


Faril Nin- My Huntress

by i_luv_obiwan91



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_luv_obiwan91/pseuds/i_luv_obiwan91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lady ranger is on her way to Lorien to see her beau and friends, but along the journey she finds a treasure, and takes an oath that changes her perspective in many ways. Orophin and Gwaeron must take risks for their love to go on, but visions inhibit her decisions that go against their fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork for my Stories...  
> http://iluvobiwan91.deviantart.com/gallery/1558228

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

**Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

**Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

**Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

**Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

**Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

**Chapter:** 1/13

**Chapter Summary: _“_** _What is it, Tar? Do you sense danger, or is it just thunder to the east?” She murmured softly to her dog, knowing that somehow he truly understood her words and their meaning. He didn’t flinch as a rip of thunder roared overhead and she sighed. She had her answer._

**Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

A young woman hummed a gentle tune as she walked south between the river Anduin and the great forest of Mirkwood. She found herself within sight of both the Drimrill Dale and the woodland realm at present and thought happily that she was ahead of her schedule to arrive in Lorien. This being possible only thanks to a much briefer visit in King Thranduil’s halls than she had anticipated. Apparently, she had missed her planned visit with his son by only a few days, as the Prince Legolas had an important message to deliver into Imladris.

The monarch would not reveal to her what, instead making it clear she was not welcome for an over-long stay. “Forgive my son’s absence, lady ranger. He would have enjoyed _amusing_ himself with the adopted daughter of Elrond once more, as he seems oft to do.” His tone was flat and delivered with a humorless smile. At least he had provided her accommodations for the night, though the next morning found her ushered none-too-gently on her way. She obliged him with a smirk, fully aware of the King’s temperament toward those lesser— uninvited— beings that dared to make their presence known in his courts. Her gratitude was that his son had taken more after his Mother in the aspect of hospitality.

Odd, she found herself thinking that night, that her friend should be traveling to where she had only just come, and still not to have seen him en route. But the thought was shrugged from her mind and she now patted the giant dog beside her on his noble head, smiling at the loyal companion she had enjoyed in him for several years. “You’ve never given me the cold shoulder, aye, Tar?” The blue shorthaired canine merely leaned into her hand and continued to pant merrily.

Grinning, she pulled her hood over a dark braided head just as a light rain began to fall on them, the clouds o’erhead having threatened the storm all morning. Tar immediately ran forward and started to jump and prance about in the slow drizzle, attempting to catch each large droplet in his open maw. Gwaeron laughed delightedly and took off a fingerless glove to feel the fresh water splash upon bare skin.

Rain had never ceased to make her smile. It seemed a comfort to know that Ulmo and Manwë were still comrades and cooperated in their workings. If the Valar could not get along, then what hope was there for Arda’s lesser inhabitants?

Suddenly Tar stopped dead in his tracks and let out a low growl, his body rigid as he faced the dark woods to their left. His mistress looked up to the animal and then to where his attention had come to focus. Swiftly, she put her glove back on and unhooked her bow to string it, drawing an arrow to nock at the ready.

Gwaeron edged slowly toward the shadowed wood, the great dog matching her step for step in their advancement. **“** What is it, Tar? Do you sense danger, or is it just thunder to the east?” She murmured softly to her hound, knowing that somehow he truly understood her words and their meaning. He didn’t flinch as a rip of thunder roared overhead and she sighed. There was her answer.

They silently entered the dense forest, the rain muffling their movements as it sifted through layer upon layer of canopy above them. Her movements were cautious, more than aware of the treacherous traps Ungoliant’s seed would set for their prey in the bulk of Mirkwood’s land. Having been rescued by Legolas, and vice versa, on more than one occasion during previous visits to the realm, the lesson of caution was now permanently engraved in her. The already clouded light of day was lessened even more so upon entering the closeness of the trees, and Gwaeron’s green eyes took their sweet time adjusting to it, she noted with annoyance.

On guard, she turned sharply to her left at a rustling in the underbrush and Tar instantly took off headlong into it, barking uncharacteristically at the possible threat to his mistress. Falling to a squatting position with her arrow aimed at what lay beyond the shrubberies, the ranger waited for a signal from her canine partner.

“Ah! _Away_! Get you gone!” A male voice cried out difficultly in weak defense against her animal.

She called out to the stranger. “Friend or foe! I have no time for interrogations!” Standing, she dropped her voice lower than normal and spoke with authority, stepping warily toward the individual through the bushes.

“Friend! I am a friend! I have no means to harm and do not wish to!” His answer was frantic and Gwaeron relaxed her grip only slightly on the bowstring until she came through the brush to behold a terrified and beaten edhel. A small bundle he clutched protectively close to his chest while he tried to ward off her still-growling dog. Seeing him unarmed and backed –practically sagging-- against a tree, she withdrew her arrow altogether and slung the bow over her shoulder, silently commanding Tar to leave him be. Her animal backed away reluctantly and sat poised on his haunches.

Crouching before the elf who had now fallen to his knees, she questioned him, still with voice deepened and hood lowered to keep her gender obscured. “What do you do unarmed in the forests of Mirkwood?”

The stranger attempted to catch his ragged breath and gave Tar a wary look before leaning toward her with the bundle of cloth. “I have not the time to tell you, for my hours are swiftly running dry. You _must_ save my daughter.” Gwaeron’s eyes widened as he unfolded thin layers to reveal a pale elfling’s sleeping face. Her bluish lips trembled from the cold and wet and the ranger put her fingers against the newborn’s face, finding her as chilled as ice.

With her hood now drawn back Gwaeron looked to the edhel briefly, stripping her gloves and tucking them into her belt before rubbing friction between her hands and pressing them to the child’s face. “What ails her? Elvenkind do not contract disease or illness.” She inquired and reasoned before glancing again to the gaunt elf leaning over his infant.

He shook his head, eyes glazed, and told her plainly. “Evil affects all, even the Firstborn. My wife bore her in the dungeons of Dol Guldur and died soon after. The Valar blessed me to escape with my daughter, but I know not what afflicts her still.” Gwaeron looked up at the elf in shock, never having seen or heard of an escape from the evil tower. Upon further scrutiny she realized his dreadful condition, his flight clearly not having come without great sacrifice. A dire wound stained his torso where his tunic now cradled the child; an insipidly pale countenance held eyes with no more the common brilliance of his race. His white hair clung to sodden flesh and framed a grief writ intricately upon the planes of his face. Wavering, — doubtless from great loss of blood—he stared hopelessly at the elfling, acknowledging naught else.

“You need caring for as well. Your injuries are grave…” Gwaeron began, reaching out to support his shoulder, but was caught by a raw and nearly skeletal hand, his stern expression forcing her to recoil.

“You will heal my daughter before anything. I am of no importance.” Tar’s soft growling could be heard over the continuous rainfall. She silenced the hound with a word, not daring to take her eyes from the elf’s, whose intense gaze trained solely upon hers. Their intensity turned to pleading and he implored her again. “Save her.” The hoarse whisper was nearly muted by another rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the ground, gently urging something to be done.

Slowly, she nodded and was released from his grasp to be given the babe. Once situated in her arms, the ranger’s cloak was utilized to protect the little one from increasingly moist air. “She needs the care of other elves. We can take her to Lothlorien…”

He shook his head and leaned back against the tree he had collapsed by, grimacing as he placed a careful hand across his bruised and seeping abdomen, struggling to breathe deep enough. “No. You must take her there, alone. I haven not the strength and would only serve to slow your progress. No time can be wasted.”

Gwaeron pressed her lips in a dissatisfied line, ill content with the way things were playing out. “Nor can I simply leave you here with foes in the surrounding wood… and you are too weak to wield any weapon.”

He shook his head and looked at her sternly. “You _will_ leave me here… You must take her to Lorien with all speed, else she fade. Whatever befalls me, it is Eru’s will.”

The child stirred gently in her hold and the lady ranger glanced down upon her to see the babe snuggle against her leather-clad chest, still not rousing from the fevered slumber, which held her. Gwaeron looked up to see Tar gently nosing the fabric to see the elfling for himself. A solution presented itself, and she scratched the fur on his withers. “I will leave Tar with you, then. He will protect your life with his. You will find there is none braver than perhaps Huan, himself.”

The elf’s damaged hand laid upon the dog’s head and Tar stepped closer to sit beside his new charge, satisfying the ranger. She stood to her full height, adjusting the infant in her grasp, and told him firmly. “I promise, I _will_ come back. Do not move from here and I shall find you the more swiftly.” Receiving a small nod in answer, Gwaeron pulled her hood down once more and turned to make hastily on her way.

The rain continued for an aching eternity, soaking the lady ranger through till she trembled. A frown came to her face every few moments when she checked on the still baby, her fingers gratefully finding a weak beat each time she checked for pulse. It took coaxing, but she managed to feed the little one a pulp of crushed calming herb, allowing a more peaceful rest, though the fever continued.

Winds had picked up now that the storm was thicker and blew rain at their back, frantically urging her to keep moving until they made it. Gwaeron began to talk with the babe as she trudged on, attempting to keep both herself and the child warmer with the exertion. “I imagine your mother was beautiful, Véredhiel. Your eyes are so much brighter than your father’s, so very blue… like the sky above this thick veil of cloud, I’m certain of it.” As there had been no names given from the escaped elf for he and his daughter, the woman had begun calling the child by ‘Véredhiel,’ meaning ‘ _oath’_ in the Sindarin tongue.

Gwaeron walked well into the night until she arrived at last to the crossing point she remembered from her numerous trips into the Golden Wood. As she reached the water’s glistening edge, however, her face fell. The Great River flowed higher and faster than she had ever seen at this familiar passing. The constant downpour had served to flood the water level and doubtless wash away any shallower bars where sand made banks to wade through.

Desperation forced the ranger up and down the bank until a passage seemed her best choice and the depth would perhaps rise to her chest at its highest. Though certainly in opposition with what she would have preferred, it was the only way. “A fine mess I haven’t thought to prepare us for, little one.” She muttered quietly, frustrated with herself. Quickly she laid Véredhiel down long enough to situate her cloak around her more permanently and secured it to her clothing, making sure there could be no losing hold of the infant. As she did so, the baby seemed to sense their impending hardship and began a soft cry that was interrupted only by weak coughs into her guardian’s neck.

Gwaeron clung to the child, watchful not to crush her, and shook violently as the rush of freezing water seeped through flesh to the bone. “I know you feel ill, Véredhiel, but you must trust me and stay strong if we are to make it across. Will you trust me, little one?” Answered only by a feeble wail, the ranger continued into the torrent of water, both from above and now below as the rain splashed up into her eyes. The woman’s footing remained secure for only the first several steps until the depth forced her onto tiptoes and her precious cargo needed holding almost above her head.

Anxious as her steps sank further into the gravel of the river’s bed, Gwaeron began to shake the more violently in a merged reaction to frigid shock and fear. “D-do not fret, child… I w-will get us across.” Determined to keep pushing forward, she spoke to Véredhiel with assuring words both for the infant’s benefit, and her own. The child must be protected. This truth urged her on through currents flowing stronger by the moment.

Finding a target down stream from her current position, the ranger poured all her focus into achieving that diagonal destination. Shoving each leg forward with every muscle flexed, the shore approached closer and closer until at last a shallow bank presented itself and the water level descended with every step. The woman’s breath clouded in fog before her face as she gasped desperately, icy water not only having constricted her lungs from drawing enough for the exertion, but also numbing her movements until she felt as cold as the Helcaraxë, itself.

Once the rapids had lowered to her waist, Gwaeron cradled her charge close to her chest, nestling the child’s head into the crook of her neck where she supposed her warmth was strongest. Plowing through the shallows with what little will power she had left, the woman gave a cry of relief and collapsed to her knees once unimpeded land touched her soles. The elfling in her quaking embrace now cried with a new vigor and Gwaeron felt her own hot tears of exhaustion drip down her face to mingle with the rain. “It’s all right, Véredhiel… We’re safe now. Almost there.” Pushing herself upright with difficulty, the lady ranger stood and began jogging with heavy limbs into the woods of Lothlórien.

It took little time before the enchanting mallorn trees began to surround her, but the magic of the flora could not be noticed by the lady ranger in her weary haste. Having trekked for nearly an hour within the Golden Wood’s borders, she now felt the presence of its Lady’s wardens alert in their posts, hidden though they were by rain and darkness. “ _Orophin_! Haldir! Please, hear me! Rúmil! It’s Gwaeron, daughter of the Dúnedain… Orophin, please!” She called out to her galadhrim friends and anyone within earshot, continuing with no response for some time as she desperately tried to keep conscious and warm.

The further she came within the forest boundaries, the lighter the rain became and more aware the woman found herself of the Lady’s elven powers of protection. To her chagrin, however, those powers still failed to bring any warmth to stiffening bones, and cradling a sick babe while soaked through did little to aid the child’s ailment as her tiny coughs and whines of pain reminded her intermittently. “I _beg_ you! Let someone hear me…” Gwaeron pleaded with the trees, a hoarse sound that emitted from her throat, which she barely recognized as her own voice.

It seemed sudden when she finally heard a distinctive noise, causing the ranger to turn her head sharply and a sign of hope to grace her pale lips. Soon a grey-clad elf seemed to appear from the very boughs of a nearby tree and strode toward her gracefully, swiftly making his way toward her as the faint beginnings of silver daylight shone through the high canopy above.

It was Rúmil. “Gwaeron! You were not expected until winter’s beginning…” He greeted her and began to start a conversation when he noticed her condition as she put a quivering hand on his forearm.

She began as he reached out to stabilize her. “I will tell you everything later, my friend. I come now in urgent need of elven healing.”

His brow furrowed in concern and gravity pulled his expression into serious concern as he looked her over. “You are hurt? What has happened?” A soft wheeze caused him to glance down at the bundled cloak she lowered in her arms, and she pulled away a layer to reveal Véredhiel’s pallid little face, bright blue eyes fluttering open to look up at Gwaeron. Both adults instinctively leaned over the infant to shield her face from raindrops and Rúmil brought his gaze to hers questioningly. “Gwaeron… I was not aware it had been _this_ long since we had last seen our lady ranger.”

Sighing, the woman shook her head and fingered the cloak’s damp folds until he could witness tiny pointed ears of the Firstborn. “She does not belong to me. I found her and her father on the southern border of Mirkwood, yesterday. He besought and charged me to bring her here for healing. Rúmil, he escaped with this child from _Dol Guldur_ …”

Rúmil’s eyes shot up to hers and she could see his bright blonde hair glow as it clung damply to his face and shoulders, tiny droplets of mist clutching to the outer strands now that he had slung his hood back. Alarmed, he glanced from his ranger friend and back to the babe. “She was _born_ there?” He pressed in disbelief and was answered with a nod.

Gwaeron’s hands stroked away damp hair from the elfling’s brow, Véredhiel’s eyes drooping slowly shut at the touch and she hiccupped quietly. When the woman looked up to him again, her eyes were beseeching as she pleaded. “Rúmil, I beg you, please help her…”

“What’s going on? _Gwaeron_?” Orophin, Rúmil’s second eldest brother and superior warden, neared the two and pulled his hood back to reveal equally glowing and tousled hair. He sent Gwaeron a soft glance before tilting to look between them at the little one.

His brother was quick to fill him in, but the lady ranger added. “The child’s father still lies wounded in Mirkwood with only Tar for protection… I fear he will not last long.” She turned to Orophin and explained quietly. “I must go back to him, Orophin. I only left because he demanded that I bring his daughter to safety before anything. His injuries are grave.” With a glance toward Rúmil she saw that he raised an eyebrow at his brother.

Orophin nodded after a moment, resolute. “Rúmil, you are a better healer than I. You are to take the child to one of the supply flets and do what you can. Get, perhaps, an elleth to assist you who know something of young ones.” Nodding to his brother, Rúmil obeyed and took the baby carefully from the ranger’s arms, nestling her under his cloak and pulling down his hood before fleeing deeper into the wood.

The remaining galadhrim sentry turned and laid a large hand on Gwaeron’s shoulder, turning her to face him. “Where is your cloak? You’re soaked through.”

Smiling softly at his concern, she nodded toward where his brother had just run off. “I had wrapped the babe in it… she needs it more than I.”

Orophin sighed and unclasped his cape at the neck, swirling it over his head before wrapping its warmth about her and fastening the leaf-engraved broach. “You are weary, Gwaeron…” His thumb stroked her neck as his hand rested again upon her shoulder.

Defiantly, however, she shook her head, knowing well what was going through his mind. “I _must_ go back, Orophin. I do not ask you to accompany me.”

He lifted his hand to silence her. “I would not allow you to go on your own, not in this state. But I am afraid you must show me your way.” His lips turned to a frown as he spoke, but she nodded in acquiescence and allowed him to lead her out of the Golden Wood.

 

 “You crossed this with a _child_ in arms?” The elf looked at the river skeptically and then to her. Nodding, she began walking up the bank with a purpose; they would swim across this time and she preferred not to lose ground by ending up farther down river than necessary. Orophin took her trembling hand once they reached an acceptable spot and squeezed it in assurance before bringing the pale appendage to his warms lips. “Just a swim, _faril nin_.” She quirked an eyebrow at him through the drizzle of rain, but smiled as the clouds seemed to contrast his delightfully bright eyes.

Once they stepped into the glacial current, she found the swim was infinitely easier than her early trek across, their strokes and the river’s current causing them to drift swiftly to the other side, down stream. Orophin assisted her from the river and onto shore, following as she led him on their long hike to southern Mirkwood. The rain bombarded them with more vigor as they moved away from Lórien and thicker clouds lower upon them, seeming to conceal their figures from unwelcome eyes.

They talked little on the way aside from more details as to how she had come upon the father and daughter and up to her entering the woods of Lórien. The galadhrim soon found out how truly intent his ranger was in this duty, a gravity falling deeper between them as they neared the destination. At last Gwaeron stopped at the edge of the woods she sought and pushed her hood back to see better. Orophin drew his bow and held his archer’s stance as she pointed into the trees. “He’s twenty-seven paces in and twelve to the north.” They looked at each other a moment before he nodded for her to go forward, silently promising her protection as his steps followed a breath away.

It was just a few seconds until she found the wounded refugee she had spoken of. Tar lay at his side with his head resting on the infirm edhel’s thigh, massive ears perking up when Gwaeron came through the clearing, but unmoving from his charge. “Oh no…” The ranger murmured as her shoulders fell and she saw them. The elf’s head hung back against the tree and his body trembled weakly, shining in the dark forest as sweat and rainwater covered him. His breath came in shallow gasps through pale, chapped lips and she put her hands on his shoulders to rouse him. “Elbereth have mercy on this one…” Her sigh was despondent and she tried again to wake him.

Orophin came and slowly crouched at the elf’s beaten, bare feet, studying him with care before attempting to draw Gwaeron’s attention. The healer in her was desperately seeking to aid and did not hear his voice until he spoke the louder, beckoning her to listen. “Gwaeron…” She finally turned to him and received a look that wrecked sadness into her heart. The warden’s eyes betrayed more emotion than his stoic appearance would allow. “He is fading, Gwaeron… there is nothing you or I can do for him, now.”

Tears filled her eyes as she thought of Véredhiel. Who would take care of her? A groan brought her gaze back to the ailing edhel and he slowly opened dulled eyes. It took a moment for him to breathe deeply enough to speak, but he did so with difficulty. “Ranger… tell me your name.” His voice rasped out of a chest struggling to aid his speech.

Her own voice came out trembling as tears threatened at the sight of him. “I am called Gwaeron, my lord. “

He lifted an unsteady hand to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, grasping it and gaining all of her attention. “Is she safe, Gwaeron? Does my daughter yet live?” He coughed violently at the strain and received her nod as he recovered futilely. “I shall not see her again… I know this to be my end. But e’er I leave for the Halls of Waiting, I would secure my child’s safe-keeping.” Closing his eyes in pain, she watched as he forced himself to continue, urgent in what askance he was about to give. “My name is Beriohtarion, and I ask of you now, Gwaeron… Will you vow to me to protect and care for my daughter… as long as Illúvatar grants you able?”

A tear fled unchecked from her misted green eyes and the woman nodded, pressing her hand to her heart and then gently to his in confirmation of the oath. “I vow to do as you ask.” Having responded faithfully, though with a voice betraying her emotion, a ghost of a smile touched Beriohtarion’s lips in response and he nodded finally.

His eyes caught Orophin’s at his feet and the dying elf sent him a wise, almost knowing look, as if he knew his future.  Then at last his breath ran out, causing Gwaeron to gasp as she kept his head from falling back, resting it gently on the bark before smoothing wet hair from his face. With a faint sob, she brushed her fingers over his eyelids, closing the lifeless eyes as she kissed her fingers and touched his brow in respect.

Tar whimpered softly and moved to put his head in her lap as she stared apathetically at the body, giving her a little warmth even though their breath fogged in the damp morning air. Orophin stood and went to her, kneeling behind her slouched posture before putting his hands on her quaking shoulders in a gesture of comfort. Leaning back on his broad chest wordlessly, she looked up to let the rain wash tears from her face and neck.

“Why did he look at me like that after you gave him your promise? He did not know me, I am sure of it…” The Lórien elf asked her quietly, receiving only a shake of her head in answer. He held her close with his arms wrapped around her and she held on tightly with both hands.

She used him as her anchor, trying to calm herself though she continued to shake. “Do we have to leave him here?” Weakly, she whispered.

Orophin took a breath before answering. “We’ll make a raft and send him down the river to Rauros… Ulmo will deliver him to Mandos.”

Nodding, Gwaeron made herself sit up out of his embrace, wiping an already wet sleeve across teary eyes. “We should move him out of the Wood. It’s a miracle the spiders have not already smelled out his blood.” Her companion rose behind her and lowered himself to the faded elf, gathering him up in his arms before following Gwaeron and Tar out to the bank of the river. It did not take long to find fallen wood enough to create a floating byre and they carried the body to the water reverently. Tar howled once or twice as they watched the raft drift out of sight, his mistress’ hand stroking his head all the while.

Orophin looked over to the lady ranger and took her hand, pulling her into his embrace. “You’re doing a very brave thing, Gwaeron, taking care of a child that is not your own.” He murmured into her hair as his hands stroked up and down her arms and back, physically reminding her that he was there. She just clung to him for a while, trying to take some of the peace for her own that seemed to emanate from his person.

As they held one another the elf could feel her trembling more from cold and wet, and he knew he needed to get her moving again. “Come, I am sure a healing Véredhiel awaits your return.” He took a step back and held her hand in his to lead her on. Tar, also, walked on the other side of the woman so that her hand always rested on his withers and together they sought to keep her warm.

Gwaeron found herself in a dazed sense of grief, feeling not the rain on her hood, nor the warmth from Orophin’s hand. It was thus she seemed to awaken when she heard the resonate tenor of the elf’s voice fill the air and her ears.

“Uich gwennen na ‘wanath ah na dhín.

An uich gwennen na ringyrn ambar hen.

Boe naid bain gwnnathar,

Boe cuil ban firitha.

Boe near gannathach…” He drifted into a low hum of the melodic tune and turned to catch her wondering stare, returning to her a gentle gaze and kiss upon her cold hand. The woman beamed wistfully before removing her eyes to the ground, consequently missing the contented smile on his face.

 

Clearing the river on the way back, Gwaeron leaned heavily upon Orophin through the water, unable to properly tread as the frigid waters paralyzed her exhausted muscles. He released her only to see the woman stagger haphazardly through the shallows and to the nearest tree by which she collapsed, shaking feverishly all over. With a bark of alarm, Tar immediately approached and licked with concern the tears and rain from her face before their elven companion pushed him hastily aside.

Orophin took her hands in his and then, startled, felt of the ranger’s equally icy cheek. Her eyes drifted shut and he took her face roughly, feeling hypothermia settling upon her mortal body. “Gwaeron! Faril nin, come, hear me. _Open_ you eyes, let me see your eyes… _Gwaeron_ ….” Coaxing her back to consciousness, she responded by forcing herself to focus on him, taking in his face and eyes, such a blue as would match the intensity of skies across the sea. 

Though hopeful since she had heard him and was attempting to obey, Orophin still saw her struggle with exhaustion and encouraged her. “Stay awake, we’re almost there. Just hold to me.” He pulled her up and on her feet, feeling it would be better for the woman to get some circulation going again, rather than to carry her now. Grasping her securely at the waist, Orophin allowed her to hold on to him for support as they trudged on into his homeland. “That’s it, faril nin… we’re nearly there. Talk to me, try to keep awake.”

Gwaeron groaned as she tried to keep up with his strides. “I want to see Véredhiel before anything, Orophin. I want to know she is well before anything is done for me.” Stopping them suddenly, the galadhrim let out a call and was quickly answered from ahead.

Glancing up from Orophin’s shoulder, she saw the elf’s authoritative, eldest brother, Haldir, coming toward them with a poorly masked look of disdain in his regal features. “Where have you been? What’s happened?” He ordered, rather than asked, and only briefly eyed the lady ranger when he wasn’t shooting daggers into his younger brother.

“Has Rúmil told you ought?”

“Yes, but I should have heard it _before_ any action was taken. For instance, you running off with this _ranger_ into the forests of Mirkwood…” His tone was quiet enough, but heated all the same. “Where is this elf you were to bring back with you?”

Orophin shook his head. “He has passed. His wounds were too grievous and we met him just moments before he faded. Please, Haldir, let me explain all to you later. Gwaeron is…”

“Sick. Yes, so I see.” He finished for him bitterly.

“… _Exhausted_.” The younger edhel corrected, irritated with his elder, as he adjusted the trembling hands of his charge tighter about him. “She wishes to see the elfling first. Where are we keeping her?”

Haldir sighed in a frustrated stance and pointed off to their outpost. “The babe has not silenced it’s wailing since Rúmil was forced from the flet, which has been over-run by our ellith galadhrim. And for this reason, Rúmil has not ceased his wailing, either.” Leaving the last statement only muttered under his breath did not prevent its being heard by both elf and woman, each smirking for the temperament toward females that the youngest retained. “The ellith wardens are attempting to calm the child, suffice it to say unsuccessfully.”

Orophin inclined his head to the march-warden and walked his charge in the direction of the flet Haldir had gestured to. Gwaeron seemed dutifully to rally her strength enough to mount the ladder into the flet and entered in, whereas her elven keeper was forced to remain outside on the porch, arms crossed in slight annoyance with being left out in yet more rain.

“She will not stop crying! Her fever has been taken down; she’s been fed, changed when necessary… she simply will not rest! We don’t know what else to do.” A frantic elleth explained the situation to a weary, yet weakly amused, Gwaeron as another was now seeking to sing the elfling to sleep with no avail, each note causing the child to wail in more distress.

Turning to see Orophin barely containing himself, Gwaeron grinned and sat herself down in what felt like a heap of bones. “Cease! Giver her to me a moment, please.” The ellith stopped their fussing and the singing maiden handed her the baby as carefully as she would a glass ornament. “ _Véredhiel_ , hush, love… Here I am. I will not leave you, hush, hush.” The infant quieted her noise and stopped completely when watery eyes opened to meet the woman’s steady gaze.

Gwaeron smiled, the little one’s cheeks were rosy and her eyes a bright, brilliant blue, though irritated enough from crying so long. She looked healthy, and now happy, as a young one should. Without the cloak covering her so, the lady ranger clearly saw gentle swirls of auburn upon her head, almost completely opposite that of her late father’s, whose hair had been a silvery-blonde.

In wonder, the surrounding elves looked on the peaceful scene displayed before them, all but Orophin, who wore simply a smile of knowledge upon his lips. Watching the child a little longer, Gwaeron sighed as the baby’s eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion from such fits as she gave before finally wearing her out. The woman laid her softly upon the cot where she sat and situated blankets about her so that no movement would cause her to roll too far. Pushing herself from the bed, she stood and approached Orophin who stood now at the doorway.

He smirked. “That did not look wholly unnatural for you, faril nin.” The edhel gazed down upon her and received a tired smile at his compliment.

“I’ve little doubt that these ellith have had next to no involvement with a newborn, be it elf or man. It seemed rather instinctive to me, I know not why.” Her response was thoughtful as she unclasped his cloak from about her neck and situated it back around his broad shoulders with care. He watched her silently. “Thank you for coming with me, Orophin. And thank you for lending me your cloak.”

Their smiles were fond and he lowered himself to kiss her cheek tenderly. “Get some rest, Gwaeron. You certainly deserve it.” With one last look, he pulled the hood over his wet hair and slid down the rope ladder they had just come up a few moments ago.

An elf-maiden approached Gwaeron from behind and offered her a blanket. “Come, lady. We shall get you dry and warm.”

 

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Orophin.” Haldir stood with his back to the warden, hands clasped rigidly behind him around a quiver-full of arrows.

The second-born took a deep breath and bowed in respect. “Forgive me, Marchwarden.” He began peacefully, in a formal tone. “There was little time to react and, as ranking officer over Rúmil, I sent him to his task and myself to mine. Gwaeron and I went quickly to help and protect a mutual ally… I did not think my actions were either in need of further explanation, nor in any way wrong.”

Haldir turned fiercely upon his brother and looked him square in the eye. “You went to who-knows- _what_ end for that… that _human_ , Orophin! Did you even know where you were being _led_? I swear, she could have taken you straight to the fortress of Dol Guldur, handed you to the Enemy on a silver platter, and _still_ you would fall at her feet!”

Orophin took the harsh criticism in stride, knowing full well how his brother’s continual temperament worsened when Gwaeron came to subject. His jaw kept tense, however, to refrain from protesting against such accusations being made against the woman he cared for. Better to take the Marchwarden’s lecture than to dig a deeper feud between he and his sibling than what was already present.

“Have you _any_ thing to say?”

With a deep breath to calm himself, Orophin met Haldir’s bright eyes with his own matching pair. “If a lady friend of _yours,_ Haldir, were to come to you with a wounded child and inform you that someone had been left in a dangerous situation, would you not trust her _immediately_ and go to aid in whatever form you could?” The elder’s glare burned into his brother and Orophin returned it with all ferocity, knowing his point to be valid. “If you should answer no, than I willingly accept any punishment. However, if you reply that this lady _would_ have your trust… I may be a bit more reluctant to submit.”

Haldir said nothing for some moments and Orophin felt it safe to approach again, though with a more delicate appeal toward his kin. “Brother, do not scorn those with a good heart and strong will to match. They are great allies, _and_ friends, if you would but allow them…”

“If I am not mistaken, you wish for more than just _friendship_ with this lady ranger.”

This remark aroused a flash of anger in Orophin’s eyes. “I have not _dishonored_ her, if that is what you are implying.” The elf practically seethed within himself at the insinuation. “I respect her. We have done nothing, and _will_ not, unless, by Eru’s will, we are bound in marriage in the future.”

Haldir focused on him in a different light as he spoke, pensive for a moment, and then once again the frown returned. “Tread lightly, brother… A mortal is just that. _Mortal_.” With that warning said, the elder of them turned away and strode toward the outer posts, unconscious of the menacing growl Tar delivered to his retreating figure.

The animal stood patiently waiting on Orophin as the elf approached at last, patting the tremendous dog while his tail thwapped against his leg in a steady gesture of comfort. “I’d let you have a go at him, Tar, if I knew you wouldn’t tear his ears off.” The canine looked up at the elf and panted so that his maw took the shape of a smile. “Ah well, let’s go fetch you something to eat, aye?” Walking off side by side with his companion, Orophin barely smiled as in the distance he could see the flet in which his _huntress_ and her _oath_ resided.

 

 

_Faril Nin_ —My Huntress (Orophin’s endearment for Gwaeron)

The Elvish song ( _Breath of Life_ )

 

_You are not bound to loss and silence._

_For you are not bound to the circles of this world._

_All things must pass away,_

_All life is doomed to fade._

_Sorrowing you must go, and yet you are not without hope._


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

**Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

**Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

**Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

**Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

**Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

**Chapter:** 2/13

**Chapter Summary:** _“I know for certain that he loves you, dearest. Should you not let him decide for himself whether or not he would choose a mortal woman to love?”_

**Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

It was determined that the elfling was newly born, perhaps only a few months old, judging by the physical development of her ears, hair, and focus of her eyes. Every elleth crowded the—now predominantly female—flet at every leave of patrol, always asking to hold and coddle the darling new baby. With their helping to tend her, Gwaeron was gratefully able to fight off the serious exhaustion her body had taken on in the last day and more. Véredhiel only fussed when hungry and finally allowed the eager ellith to take care of her without complaint so long as the woman ranger was nearby.

A bottle was fashioned for her out of an archer’s glove with a small slit made into the tip and she was fed a watered down nectar of different fruits they had on hand in supply. Gwaeron objected half-heartedly, though she knew this was their only option until they came into Caras Galadhon where other supplies could be attained. “You will have her eating only _sweets_ by the time she gets anything of substance! I won’t be surprised if every tooth she cuts will come out already rotted.” Chastising them with an amused smile, the lady ranger was easily ignored by her fawning caretakers, and so made little of it from then on.

A she-elf named _Meldiriel_ provided a change of her own clothes until the ranger’s sturdier garments dried fully along with the few extra pieces that had been soaked through in her pack. The rain ceased at length sometime during the next night and, upon asking her new friend who shared duties with Orophin, Gwaeron found out that the elf was also off-duty. Climbing down from the tree’s high-placed flet with a mind to visit her beau, Gwaeron waited as a carefully wrapped parcel was lowered down to her and she removed Véredhiel from her secure transport.

As they walked between the strong columns of trees the woman was reminded that they were quite a ways inside Lórien’s border, so she was not surprised to hear the gentle chatter of elf to elf between supply and healing flets above her. The true patrol posts were much nearer to the wooded country’s boundaries and more camouflaged, if even existent, so as to keep hidden from unfriendly eyes.  What knowledge Gwaeron could claim of stealth and invisibility was greatly attributed to living with the elves most of her life. This became the primary reason—aside from accompanying her for many years, himself—that her brother, _Estel_ , had agreed to let her ride as a ranger at all. Her foster-father still disapproved enough to frown upon her more ‘masculine’ garb, but relented upon this decision once she had come of age in the years of men.

Finally spying a tall elf standing amidst a cluster of birch trees in the distance, Gwaeron smiled, seeing her hound standing at his side until her footfalls were heard and the overgrown puppy turned. The considerably large dog galloped toward his mistress and made ready to jump up when, at her signal, he skidded to a stop and stood obediently before her, tail wagging wildly.

Leaning down a little, she allowed him to sniff and nuzzle the blankets surrounding the babe in her arms, Véredhiel reaching her little hands up to grasp at his nose and whiskers which tickled her. “Careful, Tar… She is far too small, yet, for one of _your_ kisses.” Murmuring lightly, Gwaeron watched the careful display of affection before glancing up to see a grey-clad elf standing with a soft smile on his face.

His eyes looked over the child and then met hers. “You are both well, today?” Orophin asked after them with a rich tone in his voice and rubbed at the dog’s ears to distract him.

His lover’s smile brightened as she rose upright again. “ _Yes_ , thank you. Véredhiel has been soaking up all the attention your lady galadhrim bestow while I rest.” Chuckling easily, Orophin stepped closer and ran a finger along the infant’s cheek. The baby instantly reached out for him and let out a small cry when he withdrew, causing both adults to glance at one another in surprise, though Gwaeron was quick to grin at the reaction. “Would you like to hold her, Orophin?” Smiling nervously, he allowed her to help the little one into his strong arms comfortably, smiling genuinely when Véredhiel fisted a handful of his hair to tug playfully.

Gwaeron laughed at it and he looked on her fondly while she attempted to loosen the child’s grasp on him. Orophin had never seen the truly _glow_ as she did in that moment. Her grey-green eyes sparkled and popped in contrast to her fair and lightly freckled face. The elven garments she had been given accentuated her athletic figure, a braided belt of leather hung at ease around her hips, which consequently showed off muscled thighs directly below. A quiet sigh was his only sign of disappointment as her hair was still tightly braided against her head, up and away from her face and neck so as not to hinder her. He loved when his huntress wore such thick locks as she possessed down past her shoulders and curled against her back.

She looked up once succeeding in freeing the strands of his own hair and held his gaze for a long, peaceful moment before feminine fingers pushed them back behind his shoulder, touching his neck gently on the way. Warmth filled him at such a caress and Orophin noted with delight that her cheeks flushed also, perhaps self-conscious that she had been too forward.

With her gaze lowered once more to the child he cradled, Gwaeron inquired guiltily, bringing their thoughts to another subject. “Did I incur Haldir’s wroth upon you by my actions the other day?”

Her answer was simply a deep chuckle, one that brought a newborn’s smile to Véredhiel’s lips, which accompanied his easy response. “We have long been grown elves, Gwaeron. I take responsibility for the things I choose to do… and the people I choose to be with.” As he spoke Orophin watched her face carefully, praying she could glean what he’d left for her in the field of his words.

A reluctant smile touched her features, lightening as her finger came into the baby’s grasp. “For what it’s worth, I _am_ sorry to have caused any more grievance between you and your brother. I would have gone back for her father myself—“

Orophin freed a hand from under the child and arrested hers to gain her focus once more. “I would not have let you go alone. As it was, I did not welcome you being so close to a wounded stranger in such woods. His hand was warm on hers despite the damp chill in the autumn air and Gwaeron relished it, feeling his protection conveyed through such contact.

Glancing from him back down to the little one in his hold, a delighted smile reached even to her eyes and she whispered. “ _Look,_ Orophin. She’s fallen asleep in your arms.” Their eyes met happily before her gaze returned to the child. “Till now she only found rest in mine.”

Smirking at the observation she’d made, the warden’s affectionate look soon found the lady ranger again. “How long shall you and your _foster-daughter_ stay with us in Lorien, faril nin?” The reaction she gave was what he had hoped to gain from his words; a little higher head, a clearer light in her eye, and a loving look upon her oath-child.

“I hope to take some counsel with the Lady, if I can.” Gwaeron murmured, almost to herself, before raising her head to meet Orophin’s gaze, assuring him with her expression. “I would wish to stay a while in the meantime.”

Nodding, the warden spoke of the plan he had been formulating while she and Véredhiel had been still recovering. “In two days Rúmil and I shall be free to return to Caras Galadhon for a month’s leave. If it is agreeable to you, you and the child may take my talan while I stay in the flet with Rúmil.”

Her face lit up at the offer. “Neither you or Rúmil will mind?”

Shaking his head with a grin, Orophin assured her. “Rúmil already thinks it to be ideal. And I confess I do not mind at all, for our flets neighbor one another and we shall be close.” Another sort of look deepened his stare and caused her to blush.

“It is generous of you both, Orophin. I cannot thank you enough.” As she said so, the galadhrim transferred a gently sleeping baby back to her embrace and smirked as she snuggled naturally into the woman’s hold.

“Know I would do anything for you, faril nin.” Orophin brought his hand up to her face and brushed his fingers sweetly across a soft-colored cheek. Moving to stand at her side, his arm encircled Gwaeron’s waist and began to lead them among the trees. “Come, will you walk with me? I have greatly longed for our conversations and have been restricted to only friendly silences with Tar.” Laughing lightly, she accompanied him gladly and crooned to her sweet hound who followed alongside.

 

Much later when the lady ranger returned to the flet, she found only Meldiriel there to meet her and help bring Véredhiel up wrapped tightly within her basket. An easy understanding had passed between the she-elf and herself on several visits before, and Gwaeron knew the young elleth well enough to anticipate a bit of teasing.

An impish grin preceded the lady warden’s first inquiry. “Has he kissed you, yet?”

Laughing a little, Gwaeron set Véredhiel down on the bed and laid her cloak over the quiet rise and fall of her little body. “What, and who, do you mean, Meldiriel?” Feigning ignorance, she moved to another part of the platform and began to fold her dry garments.

Moving with her, the elleth could not but roll her eyes as she tugged the woman’s hand away from her task and pressed. “You know very well of whom I speak, _mellon nin_. Has the edhel yet to taste your lips?”

This earned a fervent blush spread over Gwaeron’s face as she shook her head and laughed at such a description, confessing. “We did _not_ kiss, and I… do not _wish_ us to.”

Meldiriel sat down across from her in stared in disbelief. “How in all of Arda can you say such a thing? _Surely_ you love him?”

“Of course I _care_ greatly for him, and so thus does he care for me. Orophin respects me enough to esteem my purity above such… _displays_ that we can never truly fulfill. What relationship we have has kept me blameless in deed for whomever I come to marry.” Explaining it as best as she could, Gwaeron seemed to be trying to convince _herself_ that she was not as emotionally attached to Orophin as, Valar knew, she truly was.

“Certainly you realize, Gwaeron, this strictness you hold to is why you are still unmarried even now, at the height of your bloom.” The elleth accompanied this with a look filled half with pity, and half censure.

Drawing herself up again, and resuming the task before her, Gwaeron sought to counter. “ _Or_ it is because I have not met the right man, yet.”

Shrugging, Meldiriel rose and checked on the sleeping elfling across the room, murmuring over her shoulder so that the ranger could hear. “Or you’ve already met him and _one_ of you aren’t letting nature take its course.”

 

At last the day came to venture further into the Golden Wood and reach the city of its Lord and Lady, Caras Galadhon. With Orophin’s aid, they invented a comfortable sling to hold Véredhiel during their daylong journey, finding success when the baby was comfortable enough at their easy pace to fall asleep nestled snugly against her ranger mother.

Gwaeron placed a settling hand over the child as she stepped over some uneven ground and let her thoughts drift to the nervous floating in her belly the closer they came to the city. She had been often to the great heart of the mallorn wood, but always accompanying lord Elrond, his children, or Estel in _their_ travels and never yet on her own. The woman calmed, though, when she thought of the familiarities that always greeted her there on such visits. Her dear friend among the elves, _Anauriel_ , had been her companion for as long as she’d known Orophin, and it seemed now as though they’d always known each other.

Smiling at times past, the ranger remembered meeting him at the age of sixteen when she had tagged along with Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir as they traveled to see their grandparents. Orophin had been the one to remove the ranger’s weapons she had just begun to carry, and at her proud refusal had promised to return them into her care if the young lass could best him on the sparring field. He had beaten her flat on her back with a friendly laugh and from then on they became inseparable, teaching one another new skills and perfecting talents they each possessed. Orophin showed her how to discipline her swordsmanship and archer’s stance; while Gwaeron taught him to lead different dances he had never had a care to learn until now.

The day she was to leave with Elrond’s children the warden led her to the field their horses grazed in and, against the great tree in its midst, bestowed upon this ranger girl his most tender and devoted kiss, the only kiss they had ever shared. The smile Gwaeron wore the rest of the day invoked many knowing glances her way, but not a word of disfavor from her adopted family.

“Gwaeron? What is it?” Coming back to the present, the ranger blushed and looked over to Orophin who now studied her through vibrant azure eyes.

Smiling, she shook her head in gentle answer. “I was just remembering when we met.” The elf’s sweet grin told her that his thoughts went to dwell immediately on their kiss as quickly as hers had. He caught her gaze and moved closer to capture her hand and press it to his heart, feeling his chest swell in reaction to the precious contact. Their steps slowed together without much care that they now fell behind the dwindling traveling group, not giving thought to those who were already turning for their talans on the outskirts of the city.

Orophin’s thoughts could not be pulled from how truly beautiful he knew Gwaeron was as he watched her walking at his side. She could not physically be mistaken for any _elven_ beauty, he had seen many of the scars that battles and wilderness had dealt upon the fair flesh her dresses would make known. Kind, bright eyes bore the slight wrinkles that smiling often produced, and freckles danced upon that white skin that contrasted so much when compared to her brother’s tanned figure.

She was equal in height with her ellith friends, taller even, than some for the woman exerted authority enough upon herself so that she was not given to the relaxed posture that diminished a one’s height among her kindred. Unlike most elves, Gwaeron’s hair curled richly with the deep auburn brown of fall-time foliage, bouncing in wispy baby’s curls along her hairline no matter how she wore it. Cheeks shaded from the sun would grow rosy and bloom in flush when Orophin met her vivid green eyes, vibrant as a wave pool along the southern sea of Rhún. Her figure curved like many women and ellith, but her galadhrim admirer found it the more pleasing to know what strengthened muscles dwelt within the softer feminine form, having received the force of said muscles during their many sparring matches.

Such kindness and unconditional compassion found its way to every soul she was familiar with, giving her the one aspect that did concern Orophin for her travels alone; to have the innocence that might easily veil a threat someone could potentially prove upon her. Eighty-six years of age had brought as great a measure of wisdom as it had loveliness, however, and the edhel could not but find her as breath-taking, and more so, as he had in the first days of their meeting.

On impulse, Orophin leaned over and whispered soft endearments against her ear, gentle declarations of love in elven word. The blush deepened with her smile as he withdrew, and she shook her head while he beamed in his affection for her. Something filtered through the ranger’s sweet expression after a moment and subtly told of something wrong as she turned her gaze away. “I am not deserving of such beautiful words, Orophin…” Gwaeron spoke so lowly he could hardly hear the murmured words as she released her hand from his grasp, frowning as if she’d remembered something grave.

The sound of crying caused him to glance at the tiny babe and then watch with fallen heart as the woman tended to her and stepped more quickly to catch the others up. Gwaeron was distancing herself, and he could not fathom why. But no matter how it tore at the pain in his chest he sought futilely to push the thoughts away, refusing to believe her feelings had changed in her regard of him. Orophin told himself she was being modest, that after seventy years she could not wish to return to acquaintances only. Yet as he watched her now, moving ahead of him without looking back, a conflicting cloud of doubt began to move prominently into his thoughts.

“ _There are feelings there, Orophin, though little she may understand them at this time. I urge you not to doubt her heart._ ” The lady Galadriel’s voice echoed quietly in his mind and he looked up to the horizon. They were nearing Caras Galadhon.

 

Anauriel met them as they came up to Orophin’s talan, having heard of their arrival from those galadhrim already returned. A large basket was held at her hip, and the elleth looked eagerly at Véredhiel before clasping Gwaeron in an enthusiastic hug.  “You have been sorely missed, Gwaeron! And not by myself only, dearest.” She spoke the last in a whisper and glance of eyes toward Orophin as he climbed the steps to his home without a word.

Noticing his change in composure, Gwaeron’s smile was reticent and she quickly sought a change of subject with her friend. “What have you got here, Ana?” Gesturing to the cargo the elf hefted proudly, the ranger found her free arm linked with Ana’s and they followed up the stairs behind the galadhrim brothers.

“I heard of this elfling and so went hunting for things among the elven mothers whose babies are now as grown as I.” She explained and laughed with her mortal friend over the threshold. “They send you blessings, with bottles and cloth diapers.” As the elleth spoke cheerfully, a lock of her wavy hair found its way into the infant’s tiny grasp and pulled with a little noise of amusement. “Oh! You like my hair, do you?” Happily surprised, Anauriel spoke sweetly to the little one and smiled as her friend worked to release little fingers from her hair.

“Véredhiel seems to like the hair of those she makes noises for. I’m sure that she likes you, because of it.” As the woman explained with a grin her eyes caught Orophin watching the scene with a smirk, such a look not being missed by her she-elf friend.

“And has Véredhiel tugged on our dear warden’s hair?” With suggestion in her tone, Ana winked as Gwaeron nodded that she had. “And what of your hair? Though you do wear it up so often.”

“This is true, but it hasn’t kept Verry from grabbing at my… well, _other_ parts of me that a baby would have need of.” With a blush and some shared laughter, the elleth put her hand on the ranger’s arm and tried to suppress another giggle.

“Well, you can hardly blame the poor child for wanting her _naneth’s_ milk, Gwaeron. But I’ve brought something that will help that. Some of the mothers gave me a powdered formula to mix with warm water to use when they could not produce their own, or had no privacy. We will give the dear some of that, I’m sure it’ll be just what she needs.” More than thankful for Ana’s thoughtfulness and understanding, Gwaeron quickly settled back into the familiarity of what might as well be her older sister in all but blood. Indeed, the elleth had taught her just as much—if not more—than Orophin had, as she grew up. Instead of weaponry and stealth, Anauriel taught the more _feminine_ details of coming into womanhood, many things that even her mother had not time to fully explain. Next to Arwen and Orophin, she was her closest friend and confidant, and she could not feel more blessed to have someone such as her to help begin taking care of a newborn.

After a little while the two edhil in the talan had gathered what little they needed and rose to leave, approaching the women as they entertained the infant between them. “If you will excuse us ladies, I’ve collected my things and will leave you to settle in on your own.” Orophin spoke with little inflection and no smile, surprising them with his formality and brief bow.

Gwaeron had let Anauriel hold the baby and so rose up to give the warden a firm and genuine hug, remaining until his initial stiffness faded and his arms held her more naturally. “Thank you, Orophin. You are my most generous friend.” _Friend._ At the word Orophin’s slight smile instantly fell away and he was forced to put on a false one as she pulled away and looked up at him. It was nothing for her to read that the elf was putting on to try and please her, that there was no true happiness in his features.

Before she could regard him a moment longer she was pulled into a quick hold from Rúmil followed by a peck on the cheek as he grinned. “We’ll see you this evening, then. I’ll make a meal and you’ll come to my flat.” His invitation was good-humored and he nodded amiably to Anauriel before immediately pulling Orophin out the door.

Once they’d made it a safe distance from the talan Rúmil stopped sharply and turned his older brother around to face him. “Well, that couldn’t have been more uncomfortable thanks to _you_.” He pushed his elder brother accusingly. “What happened between you and Gwaeron that has made you so bloody _aloof_ all of a sudden? Weren’t the two of you your normal selves just this morning?” Rúmil’s hands planted on harrow hips as he waited for an answer. Only now, however, as he had a breath to truly look at Orophin did he realize his brother’s dejection; shoulders slumped with the weight of a burden, and eyes unfocused, simply glazed over in thought.

“Gwaeron, she’s… _isolating_ herself from me, Rúmil. She has leaned out of my embraces, denied my endearments, calling me only her ‘ _friend_.’ I don’t know what has changed.”

Frowning as he took a step closer, Rúmil put a comforting hand to his brother’s shoulder and pulled him into a strong embrace, uncaring about the crumpled clothes he held between them. “You mustn’t accept this blindly, brother. You can’t know all her thoughts.” Pulling away, he looked at him in sympathy. “If you’re to know what she means by these actions, then you must speak with her. I am certain whatever it is shall pass in time and you shall both be as you were, and happier.” Orophin nodded and tried to wince a slight smile in appreciation for his younger sibling. With a nod, Rúmil simply led him to his talan and attempted to draw his thoughts away from the lady ranger for a time, though little it could help when she now dwelt in the next tree.

 

Anauriel looked at Gwaeron with an arched brow, bouncing Véredhiel gently and walking toward her friend. “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen anyone so discomfited as you and Orophin since the time my mother first met a dwarf in Imladris. Why are the two of you giving such a cold shoulder of a sudden? Surely it hasn’t been this way since your arrival?”

A shrug was all she could gain from the ranger before she sat on a cot and showed the tears welling in her eyes as she looked to her friend for guidance. “I’ve been thinking lately, of the affection Orophin and I share… We’ve been together for so long, but to what end if we can never truly _bind_?” Quiet sobs began to choke her, but she continued. “I will not ask him to bind to a mortal woman and risk his immortality. It is too great a sacrifice and I am only hindering him now from finding his life-mate, not to mention a husband of my own if I am ever to marry.”

Anauriel instantly frowned and came to the young woman who now buried her face in her hands miserably. As the elleth sat at her side the child reached for her with a whine and Gwaeron took her into her arms as second nature, still nurturing even through the turmoil her emotions wreaked upon her. “Gwaeron, look at me.” Ana gently commanded her and the woman obeyed with wavering gaze to meet the elleth’s. “Do you love him?”

She stayed silent for a long moment and another tear fell from her emerald depths as she looked into Véredhiel’s eyes that mirrored the bright blue of Orophin’s. “ _Yes_ … I love him. And it tears me apart to hurt him like this.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, almost directed to the infant more than an answer to the question.

With an arm around her shoulders in compassion, Anauriel stroked a few of her friend’s braids in a comforting gesture. “And I know for certain that he loves _you_ , dearest. Should you not let him decide for himself whether or not he would choose a mortal woman to love?” Gwaeron nodded and calmed her cries, wiping the tears that had already made trails down her flushed cheeks. “Come, Gwaeron.” Anauriel whispered when she saw the baby had fallen back asleep and tugged on the ranger’s sleeve. “You put the little one to bed and I’ll help you take a decent bath. Having a relaxing soak will do you some good.”

They made a circle of blankets and a cushion for Véredhiel to sleep within and the elleth was as good as her word by filling an exquisite bath sprinkled with scented oils that calmed the senses. It was when she sat idle in a cloud of steam and just shy of scalding hot water that Gwaeron’s mind at last eased, and she was sure it had been too long since she had lingered in anything so luxurious. Bringing in a few other womanly pleasures, Anauriel sat at the edge of the tub and pulled out a fruit-infused shampoo to begin lathering the woman’s thick curls.

The sound of movement and a slight cry came from the other room and both elf and woman sat up to go get the baby when Ana rinsed her hands and pushed Gwaeron’s shoulder so that she stayed put. “Now, now, just rest and enjoy. I’ll tend to the little one while you finish up.” With an obedient nod, Gwaeron sat back for a few minutes longer in silence before at length her pruned fingers and toes begged to be released and she rose out of the tub to dry off.

A large, warm towel was soon tucked around her and secured before the ranger began combing excess water through her waist-length hair, shaking and curling through the mass with her fingers afterward. Catching her reflection in a looking glass against the wall, Gwaeron turned sideways and smirked at what she saw. Strong bones from her father had blessed her with the muscles to utilize them, and the soft curves of a healthy woman from her mother graced her hips and belly, giving shape to her lengthened figure. In strength and height she surpassed many lesser women and had caught her brother up in the latter by the age of twenty, able with ease to look Estel straight in the eye when they stood together.

Gwaeron did not give herself chance to put much value on her looks compared to others, especially when the majority of her time was spent among elves and any comparisons there were fruitless. It was the confidence in her own abilities that counted to the ranger, and that was all that mattered to those who knew her, as well. “In any case, there aren’t many eighty-something’s who look and feel as I do.” With a satisfied shrug, she put on a loose riding dress from among her things and walked into the adjoining room where Anauriel was feeding a warm bottle to a hungry baby. “Is she taking it well for you?” Gwaeron asked as she sat across from her friend, pushing her fingers through the still-wet curls at her shoulders.

“She was fickle at first to try it, and she wouldn’t have it for quite a bit, but her empty belly gave in soon enough. I’m sure it’s part for knowing me not to be her mother.” Ana’s pointed compliment caused a blush to accompany the humble smile on the woman’s lips.

“ _Foster_ -mother, perhaps, do not honor me with such names so quickly. It’s much more likely the difference of fruit juice and milk formula to make Véredhiel object at first, not the knowledge of who held the bottle.”

The elleth kept silent as Gwaeron reasoned away what she believed, but delivered a knowing look that quieted any further dispute on the matter. “What will you wear to Rúmil’s flat tonight?” Changing the subject skillfully after a lull, Ana glanced at the ranger’s apparel and hoped there was something else to be had.

Frowning, Gwaeron looked down at the coarse wool of the frock that had been a gift of the young prince Theodred in Edoras some years ago. The deep green riding dress and leggings were the effect of seeing that an undoubtedly feminine guest of the Golden Hall had little but ranger’s tunics and breeches to wear before the King. She looked upon it quite fondly with the memory to accompany it, but now fretted at its want of elegance for use of function. “What would you advise? I’ve no other garments but trousers and tunics…”

“It’s just that it’s so very _heavy_. But if you’ve nothing else to don tonight, it must be granted to have a sort of _rustic_ charm about it.” Ana’s words worked a better revision than the odd look her face still expressed at the mortal-made garment.

“You are simply used to the light and airy dress of _your_ kindred, Ana. Leave me to appreciate mine every now and again, won’t you?” The young mortal beseeched her and at last Anauriel relented, handing a now full little girl to her ‘ _mother’_ so that she could burp.

“I’ll concede to it tonight, my dear. Tomorrow I’ll bring a few things of mine you can try if you like.” With a shared smile, the elleth made her way to the door and called over her shoulder. “I’m going to bathe and change, myself, now that I smell like baby’s milk. I’ll return in an hour or two to go with you.”

With the elven maid out of the flat, Gwaeron rubbed the back of her little charge until Véredhiel’s burp of air came up, accompanied by a yawn that scrunched her face and left a whisper of a smile as the baby’s eyes drooped. “Does a nap sound good to you, Verry?” Nuzzling a small rounded cheek, the woman softly cooed and wrapped the infant a little more tightly in her blanket. “It sounds a fine plan, doesn’t it? I think I’ll join you in it.” With a soothing voice she mused before lying down on the bed with a thoughtful arm around the child and felt unconsciousness pull them into its embrace.

 

As promised, Anauriel returned to the flet a couple of hours later and found her friend in front of the looking glass making a hurried attempt to smooth the sleep marks from her face and hair. An exasperated smile greeted her and the explanation followed. “I was only going to lay down with her for a moment. It’s apparent I’m in need of more rest than I thought.”

With a smirk the elleth stilled the woman’s hands from forcing her lively hair into a messy up-do. “Stop your fussing and leave your hair down, Gwaeron. You look quite beautiful.”

Giving up her efforts with a sigh, the ranger turned to her and beamed. “Thank you, Ana. Is Véredhiel still resting?” The women went to the cradle of pillows and smiled at the little one quietly drowsing. With care, Gwaeron picked her up and laid the babe against her chest to curl naturally while she remained sleeping.

In quiet and calm they made their way to Rúmil’s talan and were pleasantly greeted upon arrival. “Good evening, my ladies.” With an affectionate peck to women’s cheek—though his welcome for Anauriel lingered noticeably longer— the cordial elf led them inside and turned his attention to the little one only just awakening. “And far be it that I forget our newest lovely one.” Cooing, Rúmil fingered a tiny hand loose from its fist and laid a kiss sweetly upon it with a wink to the ranger.

As he guided them to be seated, his elder brother entered from the hallway and Rúmil addressed him lightly. “Orophin, you decided to join us. Would you care to entertain our guests while I put the meal together? I’ll be just a moment.”

He was answered with a nod and reasonably warm smile for the women now seated comfortably. “Can I bring something to drink? I trust Rúmil may have some spirits easy enough to enjoy before dinner.” Anauriel nodded yes while Gwaeron politely declined, asking instead for something lighter.

When he moved off to fix the beverages, Ana wasted no time in teasing her friend with a well-placed elbow. “Orophin looks very handsome tonight, does he not?”

The ranger rolled her eyes and could not help a smile, though she tried. It was as if she were sixteen once again. “I could not help but see your appraisal of _Rúmil_ , as well.” She answered back with the sweetly spoken insinuation.

The elleth only smirked with an elegant brow raised at being caught. “Perhaps.” Any further prods at one another were brought to cease when Orophin returned bearing two glasses of a blonde wine and a cup and saucer with tea for Gwaeron, a healthy dip of honey added as he knew she preferred. He held her gaze tenderly for a moment as he set it before her and she smiled gratefully before lowering her eyes to the steaming cup. With eyes still resting upon her, he removed to lean against the natural wall carved out of their tree and at length addressed their friend also present. “How has the city been in our absence, Anauriel?”

The affable inquiry was met with interest as the elleth explained various happenings that had occurred during their duties on the border and he tried to listen attentively. His gaze, however, continued to fall upon Gwaeron who sat quietly beside the primary contributor to their conversation. The woman had let her hair down to fall in the vicarious manner her curls favored, pooling mostly upon one shoulder as she had swept it there to rest out of the way from her other shoulder now occupied by a coddled infant.  The riding dress she wore, when she briefly met his eye, drew out every shadow and highlight of those fair green eyes that radiated their calm as he felt himself staring without any pretense.

When he came to himself he managed to return his concentration to Anauriel, who had continued quite pleasantly on her own as though he had not been entirely distracted during her speech. “… So now that you and Rúmil have come back, I am sure things will return to more interest once again.” Ending with a smile, Orophin returned it in kind and glanced to see the ranger tasting her tea for the first sip, a sweet expression softening her face at the taste. The beginnings of sleepy movement drew his eyes then to the sweet form of a child that still lay curled warmly into what he had come to consider her ‘foster mother.’ Gwaeron truly fit every description he held for the title and could not but find himself more deeply in love with her for so innately displaying the role.

“Well, certainly consider this to be but the first of many gatherings between the four of us at least, now that we’re returned.” Rúmil cheerfully affirmed Anauriel’s statement as he brought in a tray of fruits and cheeses and sat among them, himself. A look about the room corrected him, however, and he remedied his count to ‘five’ after a nod the baby. Gwaeron laughed lightly at his care to include her new charge and kept the smile on her lips as the edhel situated himself a mite closer to the elf lady at her side.

Her attention was pulled away when Orophin came before her and offered kindly. “I can take her for a while, if you would like, Gwaeron. If only for you to take something to eat more easily.” His expectant look lasted half a moment before she smiling nodded and allowed him nearer to ease the elfling into his careful embrace. With appreciation she noted how Orophin had grown quite adept in the action since last he held her on the border. Still drowsy and desirous to be held close, Véredhiel squirmed just enough to find her natural place in the crook of his arm and cozied herself against his chest while he caressed the beginning wisps of her hair.

“It’s clear enough Gwaeron is to be her foster mother, but it certainly looks as though Véredhiel’s found her foster _father_ in Orophin.” Chuckling, Rúmil made the comment with a genuine light heart but was shot a stern glance from his elder brother with silent warning.

Gwaeron shook her head with a nervous, half smile at the insinuation. The decision she’d made within herself came forefront in her mind and ruled her speech: she would not bind Orophin to waste his mortality on her, nor withhold him from finding a partner to share it with. “We know that is impossible, don’t we?” Trying to copy Rúmil’s light air, she shrugged the comment out as though it were common sense.

Unable to let the scene continue in such a way, Orophin turned to her accusingly and challenged. “Why? Why would it be?”

She met his eye pointedly and spoke in a lowered voice, trying to keep the situation from exploding further, especially in the midst of others. “You know very well _why_ , Orophin. I would rather we didn’t discuss this here.” With intention to quiet him, her words served only to raise his frustrations beyond containment.

“Perhaps not here… but _now._ ” Asserting himself, he gestured clearly that he would have a word with the ranger in private. Sensing the distress that excited the air about the elf and woman, Véredhiel began to fuss and stir unnervingly in his hold. Anauriel shifted uncomfortably and quietly asked Rúmil to do something as they watched the infant agitatedly pulling at Orophin’s tunic and hair, as though his frustration had carried through to her. The younger warden rose and clumsily took the infant from his brother as Orophin handed her over, his glare never releasing the woman across from him though the child fitfully continued to reach for him.

A threatening glint in his eyes, Orophin summoned flatly that he would speak with her and turned stiffly to make his way down the hall. Wordlessly rising at the command, though in no way intimidated, Gwaeron followed him into another room at the other side of the talan, trying to keep confident in the choice she had made. They entered the bedroom that he was to sleep in as guest in his brother’s flat and he turned to her in the dimming light to begin the conversation he seemed to know could not finish painlessly. “What do you mean it is impossible for me to be that child’s father? What of your words to me, naming me a ‘ _friend_ ’ as though we were barely at acquaintance? Gwaeron, what is happening to you… to _us_? Never have we been so distant with one another.” A tone of pleading stained his commanding voice as he grasped her arms in an iron-strong hold, refusing to give way until she ceased a fruitless struggle against him and sagged in defeat.

A wavering gaze met his entreating eyes that only ate at her resolve, though her words went on stubbornly as her misery deepened. “Orophin, we can no longer continue as any _more_ than friends… Do you understand?” He let her go as she sank to his bed and brought her hands up to hide her face, long curls draping to veil her from the world.

He stood with difficulty as the blow of her words stunned him but soon moved to kneel before her, pulling her wrists away gently until he could see her face. “I can _not_ understand, faril nin. All I see is that you change your will _outside_ , but when I look _within_ you… you do not truly wish it. I cannot understand why are you changing.” It pained him to see her like this, eyes full of tears and brow wrinkled in a grief he could not determine. The caress of his hands around hers begged her to speak the whole truth, to say aloud what her reasons were so that he could disprove them.

“We have denied for so long, for _too_ long, how we differ. You are blessed by Illúvatar as a Firstborn, to have immortality…” Though he opened his mouth to speak she raised a slender hand to his lips and he allowed her to continue, taking her hand with rapidly failing strength. “And thought I, too, have been blessed to be born of the Dúnedain with _long_ life… I am still bound to this earth as a mortal.”

The weight of his brother’s words came unbidden to his mind though he fought to push them out. ‘ _Tread lightly, brother… A mortal is just that. Mortal.’_ Orophin’s eyes filled with burning tears as the realization solidified of what end she was bringing all of this.

“I cannot continue to withhold you from seeking a life mate.” These words she spoke with even more difficulty. “And every day I wait, I waste time in finding a husband of my own. I care for you too much to let you sacrifice your eternity for me, Orophin.” Gwaeron’s hand lifted again to his face and stroked a familiar path from his jaw to beneath a pointed ear.

Face tensed in emotion, Orophin trembled from strain as he gripped her hands nearly to the point of crushing her fingers before of a sudden he reached out and pulled her within a breath of his face. Hesitating only a moment to look into her glossed emerald eyes and find no fear, he took her lips with his in a miserably flawless kiss. The breath she had quickly taken now released through her nose in a strangled sigh, his mouth caressing with the gentle urgency she had felt from him nearly seventy years ago in their first cherished embrace.

He parted from her slowly, tasting their mingled breath for a moment before his eyes opened to see the tears that had fallen from hers. “Do you love me?” Orophin could barely lend voice to the whisper, knowing full well that the answer she had kept so long closed in her heart could kill him from grief if he let it. The woman shook uncontrollably in his hold as she struggled against the tidal wave of emotion flowing against her, the force of it crumbling her fragile wall of protection as she looked into his painfully beautiful eyes. Eyes filled with love for her.

Gwaeron could not bring herself to shake her head as she should, nor nod as she longed to. It was as if his kiss had paralyzed her to do nothing but take in the sight of him as though it were her last chance. When movement was granted to her limbs once more she let her hands fall from him and swiftly stood to flee, flying through the door in a rush of tears and green skirts as he remained weighted to the floor at his knees.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 3/13

**Chapter Summary:** _“Gwaeron dreams of a battle, one in which our galadhrim will fight, and her eyes behold Orophin struck by an evil blade. She cannot yet see that it is her rejection of his love that causes him to welcome death, believing that no reason remains to live without her.”_

**Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

With physical pain, Gwaeron released herself from him and ran unhindered from where Orophin still remained as a statue of sorrow, moving quickly until she had returned to the sitting room where Anauriel and Rúmil sat trying to calm a wailing Véredhiel. They each looked to her sudden appearance in shock of her state: red of her eyes betrayed shining tears as her frantic movement revealed the immense guilt of what she had just done. Ana rose to comfort her friend but the woman would not have it, backing out of reach like a frightened animal. “Please… please, take care of Véredhiel and let me be alone for a time.” She begged the elleth with a voice hardly her own and was relieved to be answered with a nod. “Forgive me, Rúmil. I am being so rude to you, but I must leave.” She excusing herself in haste, unable to keep a sob from leaking into her words though he clearly forgave her actions and murmured not to worry over it.

Immediately she left the talan before either of them could offer anything further and prevent her from loosing the loud cries that ripped through her body. A glance was hardly spared for Orophin’s talan that would be filled with everything of him to torture her guilt-wrecked conscience. Instead she continued on, holding her skirts so that her legs could run and her mouth so that her cries would not alarm all of Lorien to her grief, though elves she passed looked on in confusion and concern at her countenance.

To her relief, Rúmil and Orophin lived on the outskirts of the city, near to the borders and the few clearings where the horses of elvish cavalry grazed freely. It was to such meadow her feet instinctively led her, certain that among such beautiful animals she could draw some form of comfort at least. Though night had settled and the sun’s light put away until dawn, the field was illuminated in part by a half moon and in part by a large mallorn tree that dwelt stately in the midst of the clearing. Stumbling the rest of the way, Gwaeron collapsed when she reached a giant root at its base, holding onto it as her cries consumed her.

The last look in Orophin’s eyes haunted her still, the raw pain and betrayal she had dealt him made her sick to her stomach. Her words had broken him, and the knife she had stabbed into his heart now protruded from her own. With great struggle, the woman recalled her reasons for this conviction that brought so great a hurt. Beneath the façade of conviction, however, the weight of her resolve threatened to crumble the frail supports her heart tried to keep in place, and she feared what would happen once they broke.

Gwaeron found herself longing for Estel’s presence and consolation; the only person who could possibly know what she felt for he, too, had come to love one of the Firstborn as she had. Still, she shook her head at the differences. His beloved Arwen, at least, could claim the heritage of being _half_ -elven, able to choose between immortal life and finite. Whether their circumstances mirrored or not, the lady ranger could not help wanting the security of her brother’s arms with the familiarity born only from kinship.

Inside she knew Orophin to be right that she did not want this. Another sob shook her as his words came to remembrance: ‘ _All I see is that you change your will outside, but when I look within you… you do not truly wish it._ ’ They had grown too close over the decades for him not to sense her true feelings. “But it doesn’t matter.” She told herself feebly, wiping at the tears that blinded her. “It doesn’t matter what I wish, it’s what must be done… what should have been done so long ago.” Her misery must be born if she was to do what was right by them both.

The sound of approaching hooves drew her watery gaze upwards to see one horse making his way to see what her noise was all about. Among the numerous sleek and light-footed creatures, this creature was of the handful of taller, more strongly built steeds clearly bred for endurance in battle rather than speed of distance. His tanned palomino coloring shone as he stopped just short of reaching her, forelock shielding much of his sight, but ears attentive to her as she moved to meet him with a weary smile. “Aren’t you a handsome beau?” Though her voice still held the tremors of weeping, Gwaeron sought to calm herself and change her focus, if but for a little while.

His nostrils flared at her outstretched hand in greeting and nibbled with fuzzy lips to test for a treat lying therein. Drawing near until his hooves stood at her boots and his muscular neck leveled to her height, the stallion allowed her hands to pet him though the careful touch of her fingers merely made his skin twitch until she began to rub more steadily. The rhythm she stroked soothed her and the ranger softly spoke words of praise until it lulled them both into a comfortable stillness. When he nickered after some time they both lifted their heads to see someone approaching and Gwaeron swallowed down some nerves to see it was Haldir, his sharp gaze already locked upon her.

“Gwaeron.” The warden’s voice was impassive as he addressed her, to which she responded in a subdued ‘hello.’ The moment dragged before he turned his attention the horse before them and commented. “It would seem you’ve found a companion in my Voronwië.” The elf’s capable hands began to move over his steed in assessment before rubbing him down with the grooming brush he’d brought.

“Yes, he came over as I sat here. I didn’t know he belonged to you.” The answer hinted that had she known the ownership of the horse, she would have left well enough alone. There were a few awkward minutes of silence that confirmed Gwaeron’s decision to leave him be, yet just as she moved to do so he spoke once again.

“Why are you not with Orophin? I could count on one hand the times I have seen you without my brother at your side.” The inquiry was as valid as his reasoning and he looked up to study her when she did not immediately respond. His eyes found a distressed woman whose troubled expression belied the guilt that riddled her. “Gwaeron…” Haldir pressed her when she began back away, bringing restless hands up to cover tears of shame. The ranger could not escape in the state she was in, however, not especially when the Marchwarden held her in his aim to question.

The woman gasped softly when strong hands took hold of her wrists for the second time that evening, though she could have written a list of how many ways the same action differed from between the brothers. There was no gentleness in his grasp, not relenting until her breathing had settled enough to voice her protests. “Haldir, please, I don’t…”

“What has happened? Tell me.” Coolly, he commanded of her and waited with tightened grip for the reply as an interrogator would of his prisoner.

The last thing Gwaeron wanted to do was confess her woes to the unfeeling Marchwarden of Lothlorien, but at present it seemed she had no choice in the matter. The elf had made it abundantly clear over the years that he held no concern for her, but ever the protective firstborn son, she relented he deserved to know the cause of his brother’s heartache from the source. “I have ended my relationship with Orophin.” The statement disgusted her as it came forth as succinct fact. Feeling the need to explain, to show that it was not some petty conflict that could have been resolved or mended in a day or two, she went on. “I could not ignore our differences any longer… I can’t bear the thought of him following me in death when that is not his lot.” Tears seeped into her voice at the last, but her eyes leveled with Haldir’s and fought to show him her conviction.

The elf was silent a moment as he examined her, finally releasing her arms from the vice of his hands when he had found whatever satisfied him. “Your decision is admirable, ranger. I respect you for making it.” A sense of relief could be felt in his reaction and he took a step back from her to regain propriety’s distance once more. “It is the right solution, and wise of you to see it.”

Gwaeron could not swallow back the bad taste in her mouth as she listened to his approval, thought she willingly tried to accept it. “Will you say so to Orophin, should you see him?” At his nod the woman lowered her gaze and allowed her legs to take her away from the austere elf at last. “I’m doing the right thing.”

 

The abandoned elf sat frozen in place where she’d left him, in shock of what had just occurred, a hand straying to his lips where only moments ago he had felt hers pressed. ‘ _I cannot continue to withhold you… I waste time in finding a husband of my own… I am still bound to this earth.’_ Her words forced themselves repeatedly through Orophin’s head and they tasted like the bile that had risen in the back of his throat. It was over. Could it be she had truly just left… to _spare_ his heart? Before he could quell it, a brief, bitter whim spoke the thought of what a thorough job she had done of _sparing his heart_. No, he could not think unkindly of his beloved, not when her heart was clearly as broken as his. All their years together, loving one another yet just shy of saying the words. He could still the despair in her eyes.

“Orophin?” Rúmil came down the hall calling for his brother, hesitantly entering the room with a lantern in hand. “Orophin, what has happened? Gwaeron just left, weeping as I’ve never seen her do… and you are close to the same state.” The last he spoke when he set his light down and finally saw the elf’s despondent face. Kneeling at his brother’s side, Rúmil looked him over with evident worry. Orophin’s eyes stared moist and unseeing ahead of him, his hands lying palms up in his lap as he sat on his haunches before the bedside. The younger brother put a hand on his shoulder and was met with the slow focusing of hollow eyes, as if death were already trying to take its hold.

“She’s gone.” His voice cracked and tears that had barely been withheld before were now released to stain his cheeks. “She left so that I wouldn’t die.” Rúmil’s countenance fell as he realized what had occurred. Pausing only a moment, he pulled his brother to him and enclosed Orophin in a strong hold, feeling the elder cling to him as grief shook sobs from his body. “I _love_ her, Rúmil. I asked her if she loved me… she would say nothing.” Orophin strained to speak and held his brother in a harder grasp.

“She loves you, brother… she always has.” The assurance in Rúmil’s voice was what he needed and Orophin tried to force himself on the truth. Gwaeron _did_ love him.

 

Anauriel took her time walking to Orophin’s flat from Rúmil’s, trying to bounce and comfort Véredhiel in whatever way she could, though every attempt proved fruitless. The elfling had not ceased her frantic cries since Gwaeron and Orophin had begun to be at odds, and nothing calmed her as the evening wore on. For more than one reason now, Anauriel hoped fervently that the lady ranger would return.

The elleth jumped slightly when a shadow manifested itself into Tar’s broad form, tail wagging slowly as he looked up with a whine. Sparing a hand to scratch his head as they climbed the steps, she crooned to the great dog. “You’ve been out here listening to it all, haven’t you pup? Come on, then, let’s wait for your mistress to come home.” Amidst the baby’s crying they moved into the talan and were rewarded when after some time Gwaeron walked feebly through the doorway.

No matter Ana’s efforts to coax an explanation out of her, to speak at all, the woman would only shake her head as more tears leaked down her face. Wordless, still, she took the child into her arms and cradled Véredhiel close to her chest as they wept together. The she-elf sat with her for a while, until it was clear she could do nothing to console the young woman in this trial, and with a kiss to her temple left the pitiful sight to settle as it would. Anauriel’s feet followed the same path she had taken earlier in return to Rúmil’s home and found herself met by the elf at his door once she reached it. They shared a disheartened look.

“Has Gwaeron come back?” He asked quietly, so as not to disturb the fitfully resting elf a few walls away.

The elleth answered him with a nod before sighing. “She will say nothing to me. It gives me cause to think she’s spoken with someone already, for she is like to share her feelings with another rather than hide them.” With a pause and half-hearted smile, she made to remark dryly. “It would be no surprise to know Elrohir gave her that hound to always have a being to talk to.”

Rúmil remained uncharacteristically somber as he led her to the bench his porch provided and they sat side by side. Running a hand through his hair with a weary breath, he leaned forward till his elbows planted on his knees, thoughtful. “He told me she’s left him, Ana. She’s frightened that her mortality will kill him of a broken heart in the end. But Elbereth knows they are made for one another… I cannot help thinking Véredhiel is bound somehow, too.”

His last comment straightened the elleth’s back and she faced him. “I have thought on this, also. You could feel her despair as soon as they began to disagree, how she reached for Orophin even as you took her.”

He nodded. “It was much the same even on the borders.” A feminine hand moved to hold his forearm and he paused to cover it with his own, meeting her eyes with a spark of hope in his own.  “Should we tell them of this connection?”

“It is a delicate matter. Perhaps we should first consult the Lady.” Her suggestion was agreed to and they were quiet for a moment before Anauriel glanced within the talan. “How does Orophin fare?”

Rúmil’s shook his head solemnly. “I gave him some miruvor, tried to make him rest… I know he does not sleep. Tomorrow will see him on the sparring field working too hard, I do not doubt it.”

His arm was squeezed in concern. “Would that be wise?”

“I shall see to it he does not harm himself. A worse fate is for an elf such as him to be kept indoors with his grief. There is little else to be done.”

She relaxed a little, appreciating after half a moment how his hand still rested protectively upon hers as they sat closely. The pleasure was denied when she took the initiative to stand up and face him gravely. “Tomorrow you must seek out Lady Galadriel to speak of this. I will remain with Gwaeron and wait for word from you.”

The warden answered with a nod and took her hands gently into his own as they shared a look. “I shall hasten my return to you, my lady.” His voice was as soft as the gaze he rested on her and with a fond smile Rúmil moved until their mouths joined in a slow, affectionate kiss. “Anauriel…”

“I will wait for you, tomorrow.” Her words were breathless as she pulled away from him reluctantly, their eyes meeting once more as he kissed her knuckles and released her from his hold. His keen galadhrim eyes followed her until she had turned on the path home and he smiled to remember her warmth on his lips.

 

Anauriel approached her friend’s talan the next morning with a basket on her arm filled with gowns and dresses for Gwaeron to try. It was a piteous attempt to draw the woman’s mind off of desperate things, but it was something, and perhaps later her friend would wish to attempt something mundane. There was no sign of the ranger when first she entered the flat and so she laid down her light burden and called out. “Gwaeron? Are you here, dearest?” Her ears led her to the sound of quiet breathing in the washroom and sympathy furrowed her brows at the sight that met her.

The Dúnedain woman lay curled and fully clothed in an empty tub with a blanket-swaddled Véredhiel tucked in her grasp as they slept. Tar lounged on the floor beneath the tub and lifted his eyes to the approaching elf. Gwaeron’s face held lines of unrest from a doubtless long night, and the baby looked as though she’d only just settled, still hiccupping a little from a recent cry. The elleth pet her fingers behind Tar’s ears and turned into the kitchen to fix some tea and perhaps something to eat when the woman awoke.

Gwaeron shifted and moaned weakly in her sleep. She had tried to rest so many times in the night, but always disturbed and roused by the same terrible dream…

_It was a large battle being waged within a fortress she didn’t recognize. Elves and men fought with desperation against orcs the size of men that penetrated the high walls. She witnessed it all as if a shadow, unable to touch or affect anything around her and having no heed given to her presence. Blood stained her as it splattered from bodies being slaughtered, something the ranger wished she had never felt before, but had only too often experienced. The more she wiped at it, the more it seemed to cling to her flesh. They were losing. Old men and young lads fell all around her, falling amidst the massacre as orcs pushed their way into the keep. Her legs pushed her forward almost against her will, stepping over the bodies of elves and yrch alike._

_A voice drew her attention upward and she saw upon the highest wall stood Orophin, blood of red and black covering his face and figure, but clear eyes shining as he gazed down at her. The moment Gwaeron realized he could_ see _her she immediately wished it were not so, for his focus on her kept him from deflecting the orcish blade that cut deep into his back. She screamed his name in horror as he dropped heavily to his knees._

_Suddenly she was at his side on the battlement and he leaned into her embrace limply. Tears flew from her eyes and onto his skin like rain until the drops manifested into true rain upon them both. The eyes of Orophin she had been searching were now the lifeless eyes of Véredhiel’s father, Beriohtarion. The screaming grief that fled her lungs woke her up after every revelation._

These kinds of dreams were not foreign to her, and it was this knowledge that frightened the woman so much. It was foresight, the gift of few Dúnedain that her father had passed on to both she and her brother. In years past she had seen her mother’s departure from Rivendell, and eventually the precious woman’s demise in the Northlands.

With each awakening of the night she was met with a cold sweat and Véredhiel’s cries, bringing the same sorrow to her voice and the long period of duress to pain before either calmed enough and found unconsciousness. The bed linens smelled decidedly of Orophin, a torture Gwaeron found her emotions were unable to bear, and had moved to the tub in desperation after the third vision. The woman’s scream at this latest nightmare jolted the babe awake in her tense hold and signaled the frightened weeping that was all too familiar after losing count to so many during the night. Miserably, Gwaeron sat up a little and cradled the child soothingly, crying in aching exhaustion. “Shh, shh, my love… I’m here, you’re safe, Véredhiel.”

The woman’s habitual rocking was interrupted at a gentle touch from Anauriel, looking down on her kindly and holding a warm bottle. “Gwaeron. Here, let me feed the darling and you lie back down to rest. Why are you not in bed?” She took the squalling baby reverently and quieted her after a moment to nurse.

Gwaeron slumped submissively back into the tub’s bowl and covered burning eyes with her hands. “The sheets smell just like him. I could not bear it.” Her throat hoarse from sobbing, the lady ranger hardly recognized the crack of her own voice. Tar’s large head peered at her from over the side of the bath and she spared a hand to caress her sweet animal that whimpered in concern. Her wakefulness was unsteady at best, and Gwaeron vaguely listened to Ana’s assurances not to worry about Véredhiel or anything until she had recovered to take care of herself. Heavy eyelids shut out the soft light of morning and enveloped the woman once more in a sporadic sleep.

 

Rúmil arose with the sun’s rising, determined that by the end of the day he would have found some way to save Orophin’s relationship and restore him to the peace and happiness he’d known only a few days before. Dressing quickly, he checked the extra bedroom his brother was supposed to use, his hope soon dashed of finding him there. With a sigh he was out the door, hoping his brother had not yet harmed anyone on the sparring courts in his state. When he arrived he found Orophin in the farthest practice ring as was usual, and Rúmil stood patiently at the rope to watch him perform his sword flourish.

The noble elf was a true sword master among the galadhrim and practiced often against the better warriors of Lorien, including both Haldir and their own lord Celeborn. To the untrained eye it would seem his beautiful motions did not tire, but Rúmil could see it in his eyes, in his stance, and even the grip of his sword that the elf had found no rest during the night. Sweat hung low on his brow, muscles tensed without need, and often he let gravity carry the blade instead of what were now wearied fingers. These troubles ran deep, and Rúmil knew he would recognize the turmoil in his elder brother from these signs alone even had he not been present last night.

Ending his flourish in the ox position, Orophin efficiently sheathed his weapon and moved to the sideline where a towel lay draped for him, addressing his brother without looking in his direction. “What do you need, Rúmil?” A mirthless voice commanded of his youngest brother.

“It would seem your night fared about as well as Gwaeron’s.”

The remark snapped Orophin’s attention to him and furrowed his brow in concern. “What? Why? Is she all right?” Hastily demanding, he took a few steps nearer.

Rúmil put his hands up disarmingly and conceded that it had not been the right thing to say. “She’s not harmed. I only say so for I heard her night terrors several times when she cried out… Most often it was your name she called.”

Hearing this made Orophin turn away in pain, gripping his scabbard with white knuckles. “Have you seen her?” Quietly did he ask, eyes fixing the hilt of his sword and unable to rise for the guilt that pierced him.

“No, that is Anauriel’s honor today. I will check on her, though, if you wish me to.” He was answered with a nod when they neither spoke for a few moments. “Are you going to be all right, Orophin?” The concern in Rúmil’s voice brought his somnolent gaze up once more.

“I’m not sure, Rúmil.”

The younger took his brother’s shoulder in a firm grasp. “Have faith, brother. Things are wrong now, but they shall turn aright again.” Squeezing once more, he turned to leave him. “I must go now. There is someone I must speak to.”

 

_Gwaeron willed herself to scream his name much sooner this time, imploring him to turn around and defend himself before it was too late, but his steady gaze would not waver from hers. Those blue eyes she had long memorized now went distant as the jagged blade cut into him, the pain she felt blurring the number of times she had seen the horror repeated in her mind._

_The woman caught him this time before he collapsed amongst the bodies that already littered the ground, his head falling against her chest. “No.” A tremulous breath was all she could manage as he looked up to her with fading vision, his throat constricting as he choked on his own blood._

_“I love you.” Strangled, he forced out the words from pale lips that dewed with her tears. When those eyes at last clouded over they held no more the brilliance of Orophin’s gaze, turned now to become Beriohtarion’s dead eyes staring coldly at her._

The woman jolted awake in the tub and quickly smothered her mouth to keep from crying out and waking Véredhiel. Her child was no longer in her arms, though, and the panic that accompanied this realization was soon quelled upon hearing Anauriel’s gentle singing in the other room. Tar stooped over the tub from his great height and licked her arm a few times, nudging her as if in concern. Gwaeron let out the breath she hadn’t meant to hold and stroked him for a little while until she could quiet herself, wiping at tears with a shaking hand.

At length she felt confident enough to see to the baby and climbed out of the empty bath, closely followed by her obedient hound. Véredhiel was tucked securely into a hold of warm blankets and sleeping soundly on Orophin’s bed, chest rising and falling evenly as it should. When Gwaeron moved to find Anauriel she noted with a smile that Tar plopped down at the bedside, no doubt proclaiming himself the child’s guardian in her absence.

“I’d expected you to sleep the rest of today, you look exhausted, love.” Ana remarked in a caring voice and rose to take hold of the ranger’s hands, finding them clammy and chill to touch. “You’re hands are cold, are you unwell?”

Pulling away resignedly, Gwaeron shook her head and massaged her stiffened neck and shoulders from an uncomfortable night. “I spent every moment asleep in terrible dreams… nightmares. I am well, only tired.”

It didn’t take much for Ana to see through the poor excuses her friend offered. “Have something to eat, Gwaeron, it will do you good.” The elleth practically forced a piece of fruit into her friend’s hand and watched the dour face she made before taking a bite. Gwaeron could taste nothing, feel nothing but the pain, the weeping, and the exhaustion, and it sickened her to obey well-meaning orders. She had never felt so averse to food.

 

“Though the choice fills her with anguish, Gwaeron holds fast that her actions must Orophin’s life.” The Lady of the Golden Wood now spoke after having heard the warden’s tale of his brother and the mortal ranger. They stood on a dais overlooking and enshrouded by one of her gardens, the light of morning only just peering in through the ivy and trailing flowers that seemed to uphold the structure itself. Galadriel stood as though a beautiful sculpture in its midst while her lord and husband sat nearby, a faithful admirer and caretaker of her light.

The Lord of Lorien turned now to Rúmil and voiced his own thoughts on the matter. “It is clear enough the Valar have meant them for one another. A forced remedy, however, is not something I deem wise, not so soon after the trial has begun.” The silver gleamed in his hair as Celeborn turned to his lady-wife, sensing a foreboding from her.

Ancient eyes of a noble-born elf turned now to Rúmil and he discerned warning in his mistress’ gaze. “I have felt the distress of this maiden in dreams of terror during the night. You have heard her to have them, Rúmil.” Her pointed words were answered in a nod. “The blood of Númenor runs in her veins, granting her this untried nature of foresight. It shows what will come to pass should Gwaeron and Orophin continue in this manner… It shows her his death.”

Rúmil’s body tensed in alarm and his eyes locked with Galadriel’s like lightning. “No. Something has to be _done_! It cannot be…” Looking pleadingly between his Lord and Lady, the younger elf gestured frantically, frightened now for his brother’s fate.

It was Celeborn who spoke first, calming his panicked warrior. “Only wait, Rúmil, hear the matter out. How would this come about if the ranger keeps to her decision, meleth nin?” He inquired as he turned to his wife.

“Gwaeron dreams of a battle, one in which our galadhrim will fight, and her eyes behold Orophin struck by an evil blade. She cannot yet see that it is her rejection of his love that causes him to welcome death, believing that no reason remains to live without her.”

“What can be done, then? And what of the elfling, Véredhiel? The babe is a part of this, she must be.” Rúmil sought answers and racked his mind for anything of use in what had now become a mortal dilemma.

Galadriel’s knowing smile seemed to bring more light into the morning-filled balcony. “The child shall become Orophin’s life. Gwaeron’s fate will ultimately join her with her ancestors in death, and her thinking is correct to believe Orophin would fade at her end. Their fëar are Valar-bound, this is known to me. His love for the child of their bond shall serve to carry him out of grief and through life again.” The Lady moved toward her galadhrim and touched his hand, bringing relief through the contact and speaking in his thoughts. “ _You are right to say Véredhiel is a part of this, her connection is for a reason._ ”

Rúmil’s countenance eased for the moments her voice filled his mind, but as soon as she withdrew he put a hand to his face in contemplation, concern clouding him again. “What must be done now? Orophin holds onto hope by a thread and pushes himself to the threshold, and if Gwaeron has these visions as you say, she will be wan to nothing before a month is complete. Is there nothing we can do to aid them?”

“Support them with strength in these weaknesses that cannot be avoided, their bodies must pay at the will of thought and feeling. When their minds have come to the need of answer, I shall be here to give them.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 4/13

**Chapter Summary:** _His hand rested as a comforting weight on her head and he urged her gently. “Tell me what you see.”_

_A shaking breath came into her lungs and Gwaeron swallowed past a sore throat before letting her answer pass. “He dies.”_

**Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

The days passed slowly for the separated lovers, even pulling those close to the couple into the gloom that weighted them. Gwaeron’s visions continually lengthened and grew in detail night by night, leaving her with little or no rest, and plaguing her days so that a moment’s remembrance would leave her unable to stand for trembling. Orophin’s days were spent in the sparring courts, punishing himself with hard exercise in the desperation to put her from his mind. Had it not been for Rúmil’s intervention, the elf would have willingly stayed fighting with himself until unconsciousness forced itself upon a drained body. Instead of dropping wholly into sleep, Orophin was banished to his chambers where unrest met with the faint cries of his beloved’s nightmares, keeping any peace from resting within the broken edhel’s thoughts.

At times he felt strong enough to go to his huntress, to pull her from the terrors that overwhelmed her and feel the touch that haunted him. Before he could even leave his room Gwaeron’s words would pierce him once more and halt all forward-movement, crumbling him to his knees where Rúmil would find him cracking in tears come sunrise. There was so little his brother could do, but it was done.

Though it did nothing but hurt, Gwaeron would sometimes peer out of her window in the half-light of morning to see Orophin’s path to the training grounds. His shoulders were burdened in uncharacteristic posture and his normally long strides were halved and sluggish, hinting at unrest. The lady ranger herself was much more visibly changed after so many days of depravation. With no energy, no desire to leave the flet, to see her friends or wander the forest, the murmur began that her Dúnedain vitality would leave her too soon. With Anauriel’s help Véredhiel was cared for, and basic tasks completed such as taking in what nutrition she could stomach.

In so dismal a way this month passed and at the appointed time Rúmil and Orophin were summoned to return to the borders and hold their watch of the Golden Wood. Outside of his talan that morning Rúmil stood closely with Anauriel, a tightly bundled Véredhiel nestled between them as they spoke their hushed farewells. His warmth spread to her fingers as he pressed them to his face and lightly against his lips. “This shall be one of the loneliest guards I’ve gone for. I shall miss seeing you each day.”

“It won’t be long until you’re come back. I’ll miss our moments of peace at the end of each day… I’m afraid there won’t be much peace to be had.” The last she spoke unhappily and he answered with a sigh.

“I’m afraid you’re right. With each day my brother worsens and I cannot force him to speak with Galadriel, nor can you urge Gwaeron.”

“I shall try to keep from pushing. It’s so difficult being this helpless.”

Rúmil lifted her face nearer to his and admonished sweetly. “You are not helpless when you care for our ranger and her child as diligently as you do. They are in your protection while I’m away…”

“As Orophin is in yours.” She finished for him and was answered by his adoring smile and nod. Closing the distance, the warden took her mouth into his own and held the elleth for a blissful moment, savoring the new love that blossomed between them.

“Take care, dear one. I’ll return in a month’s time.” He assured her and placed a sweet kiss upon the baby’s forehead before departing at last and joining the others in his group of galadhrim.

 

“ _No_!” Gwaeron screamed and pressed her fists into the mattress beneath her as sobs tumbled without consent from her mouth. She lay shaking and weak on her back, the darkness of her foresight sapping life and strength from her bones. “What must I do? How can this end?” Her cries echoed softly through the rooms of Orophin’s flet until they beckoned Anauriel by her side and the ranger rolled into the touch to embrace her friend. “What can I do?” The woman begged feebly, wishing all of this misery to be over with.

Unable to hold back, Ana carefully spoke. “Perhaps if you spoke of these dreams, it might serve to…”

“No.” With voice shaking Gwaeron cut her off, turning away to curl around herself. “No, I could not bear to speak them aloud. I cannot.” Choking up with the imagery so fresh in mind, the fear in her hushed tones pleaded with Anauriel to release her.

The elleth rose after laying a steady hand on her friend’s back, silently willing her to take comfort, and moved to where Véredhiel was still blessedly asleep. The baby clung to a soft jerkin that belonged to Orophin and was nestled among the bed of blankets that had been arranged especially for her. Ana covered her further with the jerkin and smiled as she lightly stroked a rosy cheek. “She does know her father.”

 

“You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back.” Haldir informed the half-caste group of travelers and grimly ordered the members of this ‘fellowship’ to be blindfolded immediately.

Orophin quickly found the Aragorn at the head of the group and leaned close to murmur discretely. “You will stay by me, my friend, your company is in good hands. There is much I must speak with you about.” The ranger glanced intrigued at his long-known friend but was interrupted by dark cloth obscuring his sight. As the band made its careful way into Lothlorien, the elf told Aragorn all that had happened, from the moment Gwaeron had arrived soaked and holding a babe in arms to the Wood, up to the last night he had seen her run from him in tears and all Rúmil had shared of her since. “I know not what tortures her at night… I cannot accept that they are merely dreams. Whatever she’s hiding away is tearing at her from within. She needs you, your counsel can only do good, I beg of you.”

The heartfelt plea struck the Dúnedain to the core as the grasp on his arm tightened with his words. It was clear enough that whatever was tearing at Gwaeron had also been wearing heavily upon Orophin. “As soon as we have met your Lord and Lady I shall go to her, you will take me.” A distressing thought came over Aragorn in his hopes for his sister. “I need her _well_ …”

“As do we all.” Orophin prayed desperately that having Gwaeron’s brother near would bring some kind of change for her good. From Rúmil’s accounts he knew that the lady ranger deteriorated day by day, falling into a shadow of the beauty and strength that once filled her person. The week he had now been on the borders brought back memories of what had once been his huntress, each tree and brook reviving her spirited visage to his thoughts. The depression that stained the elf mused if he would ever have the same woman again, but he pushed the idea away. Every hope now grew all the more difficult to sustain and the effects were easily reflected in his outward appearance.

Aragorn, who had studied his comrade intently upon his approach, also saw these changes and grew concerned at the differences made. Orophin’s eyes held little glow and showed clearly the weakness in a gaze that hid little, and every move seemed a great effort to be made as though he had half the energy to work with as before. There were many ways in which the Dúnedan understood his sister’s choice. Gwaeron held the strings of innocence and nurturing within her that struck fiercely when it came to any death but her own or her enemy’s. It was a simple truth to comprehend that the woman could not bear the fading of her elven lover. Such a truth was easy to read when the same knowledge haunted his heart as well.

In the matter of her ‘dreams’ Aragorn felt the worry rise in him again, for he knew well what they meant. The sighted trait of Númenor had been shared between he and his sister all their lives, and through the years Gwaeron’s sense of foresight had proved more distinct than those that he had experienced but rarely. Whatever was being shown to her mind’s eye held a disturbing verity that brought such pain. The only solution was to know what she saw, and he could be the only one to draw it out of her. The ‘ _Strider’s’_ wonderings were silenced and brought to the now as his company’s sight was restored and they found themselves arrived at Caras Galadhon.

 

“Where is Gwaeron, Ana? Where has she gone?” Aragorn questioned the elleth in Orophin’s talan with urgency, eager to find his sister after having the news of her worsened condition confirmed by the Lady of Lorien herself.

While the ranger dealt with the she-elf, Orophin had found his attention quickly drawn to where Véredhiel played contentedly lying on her back. Coming to sit on the bedside, he leaned over the child and ran his fingers carefully along her face and over the soft curls that grew slowly at her crown. Smiling at his touch, the baby cooed for him and fisted her fingers open and closed reaching upward, giving the elf cause to smile genuinely for the first time in too long. It hadn’t occurred to him amidst his darkness how greatly he had missed seeing the elfling. Answering the little girl’s request, Orophin gathered her into his arms and found her perfectly situated against his shoulder with ease.

His friends’ discourse finally reached to gain his focus again and found it at an impasse.  “I don’t know _where_ she is, Estel, only that she took Tar with her.” Aragorn frowned at Anauriel’s apparent lack of knowledge and glanced about in frustration before resting his eyes on Orophin in astonishment. It seemed his companion had all at once become the vision of a proud father cradling his new daughter. The ranger took a step toward him in realization of the child, herself. “This is Véredhiel, then?” As he drew closer he could not help his surprise. “By the Valar… She has every look of Gwaeron but for her eyes.”

Orophin smiled sadly at the recognition and pressed a hand to the infant’s back to hold her nearer. He saw the change in Aragorn’s gaze and knew he thought of his sister. “You must go to her, Estel.” With a nod, the man stood straight again and turned to leave the flat, finding anyone still out who might have seen the young woman.

All answers brought him in the direction of the few fields of Lorien, and then another spoke that she had seen the girl go to one in particular which held the mounts of the galadhrim. It was this pasture that he found the lone mallorn in the center and a blue haired hound sitting obediently at the rise of a great root from the tree. Startling a few horses nearby, Aragorn ran toward the only evidence of his sister and turned the corner of the tree to find a frail, quivering form curled against the wood. She wept with eyes shut and he realized then that she was sleeping.

Coming to kneel beside her, Aragorn called to her gently. “Gwaeron? Gwaeron, wake up.” Tar began to whimper and fidget, but remained at her feet faithfully. The man laid his hands on her shoulder and brow and touched her with care, breathing to himself in sorrow. “What have you done to yourself?” Too many nights of unrest had drawn lines on her face and darkened her eyes harshly against fair skin. Gone was the smile that he remembered frequently danced on her lips, and in its place the expression of an aged pain. “Gwaeron, it’s Estel. Please wake up.” He begged quietly and saw her at last begin to shift toward consciousness, opening green eyes that had lost much of the vitality he had once seen.

It took a moment for her gaze to focus, and then another to believe the sight they gave her. He smiled encouragingly as her fingers reached up to his grizzled beard and finally took him in. “H-how?” The fragility of her voice only moved him to take her into his embrace and she clung to him with trembling limbs as his shoulder stifled sobs of disbelief. “I’ve missed you, Estel.”

He felt the whisper against his neck and turned to press kisses into her hair. “And so have I. Most dearly I’ve missed you.” Holding her at last, the grief of Gandalf’s death and the struggles to keep safe Frodo with the others released through the tears that dewed on his sister’s hair. Aragorn let them calm for a few moments’ respite before holding her out enough to see the heartache in her look, letting his smile fall at the sight. “What have your visions revealed?”

Surprise filtered through before Gwaeron lowered her eyes from his perceptive gaze and inquired. “Who told you of my visions? I’ve said nothing but that they are dreams.”

The weary ranger sat back and took her hands within his calloused pair, still bloody from fighting his way out of Moria. “Orophin has told me much of what has passed since your arrival to Lorien.”

These words brought her head up abruptly. “Orophin?” Her beloved’s name felt almost foreign on her lips now, though the elf in question had never strayed long from her thoughts.

“He knows only what Rúmil and Anauriel have told him, I gathered the rest for myself.”

Again her eyes dropped from her brother down to their hands brought together, trying to fight off images of Orophin’s lifeless eyes and bloodied body in her arms.

Aragorn continued after watching her reaction. “He worries for you… as do I. You are not the same girl I left in Imladris this spring.” Carefully he lifted her by the chin to see tear-welled eyes and trembling lips.

“I am not well, Aragorn. I cannot find rest anymore, my mind is filled with him.” The woman’s voice spilled out brokenly for the hard lump that had formed in her throat and she leaned again into his embrace, finding a comfort in his touch that she could not receive anywhere else.

Softly, he supported her and stroked the curls of his mother that graced her hair. “I will help in whatever way I can, Gwaeron. I swear it.” The nod against him spoke that she had heard, but she remained quiet. “I know this vision frightens you, that you do not wish to speak of it… but I cannot help the fear that keeping it inside will only let it consume you.” His hand rested as a comforting weight on her head and he urged her gently. “Tell me what you see.”

A shaking breath came into her lungs and Gwaeron swallowed past a sore throat before letting her answer pass. “He dies.”

 

With Véredhiel still in arms, Orophin sat on the cot to feed her with a bottle Ana had fixed for him. Keeping one hand on the bottle and the other tangled in his hair, the babe was fast approaching sleep with his loving embrace protecting her. In the room adjacent Anauriel paced slowly with her arms wrapped about herself, glancing out of the entryway every few minutes anxiously. “Do you think he’s found her? They’ve been gone some time now. I feel so foolish for having lost track of her.” There was rebuke in her voice as she voiced the questions, asking for some sort of assurance that she had not made a dangerous mistake.

Orophin took a deep breath and followed her gaze to the view out of his talan, frowning slightly. He couldn’t rebuke the elleth when he had also been worrying for the past few hours that Aragorn had been gone. “I’m certain he’s found her, it’s only a matter of where they are.” His words reassured her only slightly, and brought him no relief at all.

Sighing, the elleth walked into the room and quietly took the bottle from him when it was plain enough Véredhiel drowsed soundly and had little need of it. “Would you like some tea, Orophin? I think I’m going to make some for myself.” She offered in a kind attempt to break the silence of waiting in some way.

The warden shook his head politely and rose to put Véredhiel in her cradle of blankets, situating her snugly amidst the clothing and blankets and smirking when he noticed his jerkin had taken its place in her tiny hand. “I thank you, no. I should be getting on to relieve Rúmil of duty, I’m sure he’s wondered where I’ve gone.” It was as he took his leave of the flet that Orophin saw Aragorn walking alongside his sister coming toward them.

At first he could make no move to do anything as he watched his beloved huntress making a weary path in his direction. The moment of seeing her now brought forth like a thunderclap in his ears the reality of his love for this woman. Orophin was so ready to do anything for her, anything that could bring back the life in her veins that seemed now utterly drained.

Gwaeron eventually looked up from her steps and saw him standing on the deck, watching her approach intently. With no warning a lightning glimpse of his dead body formed in her mind, causing her to stumble with faintness before her brother swiftly caught her. Aragorn’s arms held her securely as her legs sought to find purchase again and he asked her in concern. “Are you all right? What is it?” Following her line of sight, he realize it was Orophin’s presence that had effected this shock and shared an unspoken exchange with his younger sister as desperate tears stung her eyes. Nodding, Aragorn swept her up into his arms and allowed her face to hide in his neck and shoulder as he made his slow progress up the steps to the talan.

Orophin could only stand by and look on as Aragorn passed him with the precious woman held so close. It was like being dealt a blow to the face when he knew that no matter how willing he might be to save her, _she_ was not yet able to let him.

The ranger gave him a solemn look of sympathy as he paused by the entryway, speaking softly. “She is not ready yet, mellon nin.”

The elf looked long upon her shattered figure and let his emotional resolution show clear on his face as he met Aragorn’s gaze steadily. “I know. Let her know I will wait as long as she needs.”

 

Orophin joined his younger brother at his perch above their guests’ allotted quarters, finding that the little ones and _naugrim_ had already made their beds among the mellyrn roots and were sleeping comfortably. Their watch did not include the prince Legolas Thranduilion, allowing his free passage anywhere in the Golden Wood, but the galadhrim kept their eyes on this Boromir of Gondor who alone sat awake. “He’s done nothing but set his eyes to the east. I feel a shadow on this man that is more than just grievance for Mithrandir.” Rúmil expressed his concerns before sending a wary glance to the elder brother at his side.

“Thus far he has done little but stare eastward, brother, there is no wrong in it.” When the younger warden conceded with a nod, Orophin clapped him on the shoulder like he used to do. “Take your rest and go find Anauriel. I will watch them tonight.” A cursory look was shared between the two and Rúmil offered him ‘good eve’ before picking his path back to their talans to do as he was bid.

Several hours passed before at length the lord of Minas Tirith settled into his bedroll and all was perfectly still in Caras Galadhon, only the distant singing of lament and the breath of the forest creating any noise. Orophin’s mind wandered until its focus returned, as it always did, to Gwaeron. He couldn’t help the prod of jealousy when he recalled how easily she had slipped into her brother’s embrace, readily accepting his touch, his comfort. Their separation made him long more than ever to only hold her hand, perhaps finger one of the curls at her shoulder, and the ranger received such devoted affection without ever having to ask.

“Your mind is elsewhere, mellon nin, than perhaps keeping guard over your visitors?” The Mirkwood prince’s voice swayed like a young aspen’s leaf beside him and Orophin smirked.

“Were you not also _elsewhere_ , Greenleaf? How does your Meldiriel do this late in the evening?”

Legolas grinned as warmth spread to his ears. “She is fair, as always when I come to her in Lorien. A glow surrounds her here that is missed when we are met at Father’s courts.” The warden only nodded, easily understanding the love Meldiriel held for Lothlorien and certain of her loyalty to its Lord and Lady. The noble elf sighed quietly, forcing himself to be at peace. “It does me good to see her at such a dark time, when shadows grow heavy upon too many hearts.” The prince knew not how distinctly his words matched his friend’s current state. After another moment’s silence Legolas studied his companion and inquired. “And how does your Gwaeron fare, Orophin? Meldiriel told me she is staying here… but I take it from your look that she is unwell.”

Orophin chuckled without humor and glanced at the prince before turning away. “You ask the wrong elf, for I am the last to know anything of her these days.”

“But you have seen her, yes?”

The warden pinched the bridge of his nose and sought to breathe deeply. “Yes.” He swallowed back a hard lump in his throat during the silence that followed, and then broke it in what came out as though uttering an oath. “By the _Valar_ , I miss her so much. I can’t even _go_ to her, Legolas… She doesn’t want me.”

Quickly, Legolas came to turn him back to face him and held him by the shoulders. “You can’t know that, Orophin. I’m certain she longs for you as much as you do her. It is not like her to keep away from those she loves, and _has_ loved for so long.”

Sagging in resignation, Orophin could not hold tight enough to his hope before murmuring the words matter-of-factly. “She is _not_ herself, anymore.”

 

With significant effort and cajoling on Ana and Estel’s part, Gwaeron was at last induced to venture out and meet the fellowship that had accompanied her brother, a valiant effort to take her mind off brutal visions. Bringing Véredhiel turned out to be a hit with the halflings, who were fond of, and much used to the children of their friends and kin back in Hobbiton. Even Gimli felt a soft spot to the babe, such a rare thing among his kindred, and admired her kindly from a safe distance.

“Where do you think Verry’s parents were from?” Samwise asked of the lady ranger as he sat next to the squirming baby in Frodo’s lap, using the pet name they had formed as soon as the child’s full name became too difficult for a simple hobbit’s application.

“I don’t know exactly, Sam. Though I never saw her mother, her father seemed to have the _look_ of a Sindarin of Lorien, but I did not recognize him…”

“And do you know every elf in the Golden Wood, m’lady?” Boromir’s accented voice addressed her from where he propped against a tree, arms crossed with a doubtful tone in his question.

Gwaeron turned to look at him and shrugged slightly, unaffected by the sarcasm he obviously meant by asking in such a way. “Not perhaps by name, but certainly by _sight_ , my lord. You may well be unaware that much of my youth passed in this forest among the elves.”

The dare in her answer earned the man’s silent admiration and a half-smile briefly lifted the corner of his mouth. At her side, Aragorn watched this exchange warily, edging protectively closer to his sister while something about this ‘brother-in-arms’ suddenly put a bad taste in his mouth.

The longer she sat among the Shire-folk and their company the more the unstable walls Gwaeron had erected about herself were steadily picked apart to reveal her old nature. Easy laughter from Pippin, and the gentle playfulness of Merry reminded the woman of better times she had started to forget once surrounded her.

After a while, she began to notice Boromir drawing closer into the group and joining in conversation when it involved her, contrasting to the brooding figure he had previously posed. Her reaction to the subtle interest he paid her soon filled Gwaeron with guilt, finding herself warming with his attention. In the back of her mind her thoughts drifted to how she ought to be settling down, finding a good man to care for her and build a family. Orophin should be doing the same. Seeing herself as a woman available for courtship was almost too foreign, she had so long been attached to Orophin that there had been no desire for any other’s attention. Gwaeron could not be sure she even desired it _now_.

Aragorn watched his sister vigilantly, finding those far away eyes being drawn to troubled thoughts, and placed a well-timed hand at the small of her back to silently ask if she was all right. Turning, Gwaeron gave him a nod and understanding smile, moved by the protective nature her brother tended to when they were together. He had been tight since she sat with the fellowship, and the woman gauged his reactions as she conversed more easily, finding that he tensed with every interaction she had with Boromir.

Soon the lady ranger encouraged her brother to have a turn holding Véredhiel and it brought a grin to her face to see his reaction of awe, hesitantly carrying the child as though she were made of blown glass. They shared a wondrous smile as he glanced up and met her eyes and it seemed to ease that tension he had been holding onto. The image he made brought immediately to Gwaeron’s mind the similar sight Orophin made, holding the elfling as though she were his own. Unwelcome pain troubled her from behind her eyes and the woman shrank back a little from the scene, putting a hand to her brow and drawing the attention of at least one of the group.

“Are you all right, my lady? Gwaeron?” Boromir’s hand touched her arm carefully as he voiced his concern.

This, in turn, brought Aragorn’s attention back to his sister and restored the ranger’s anxiety. “Gwaeron? What is it?” Speaking her name elicited a wince as she tried to obey by opening her eyes.

The ache now clawed its way past her vision to throb at her temples. “I’m all right.” Supplying weakly, she sought to assuage his fretting. “Just a sudden headache.”

“You should lie down and rest. I’ll take you back to the talan, now…” The worried brother made to stand, but was kept seated by a hand on his shoulder.

“No, no you stay here with Véredhiel and your friends. Please. I can take myself.” Gwaeron forced a smile and he conceded reluctantly, watching her rise and slowly make her way. When the ranger’s attention returned to the baby in arms, another gaze remained fixed on his sister until she had walked out of sight, the owner of that gaze quietly removing from his company to follow the woman.

Gwaeron moved gradually toward Orophin’s flet, focused on easy steps to lessen any jarring to her head, and therefore did not sense the presence of another until Boromir’s footfalls were well within earshot. She paused to glance behind her and made a small smile to see him some ways behind her, but clearly in careful pursuit. “You could have asked to walk with me instead of stalking quite so conspicuously.”

Quickening his pace to catch her up, the captain bowed his head discomfited. “Forgive me. Would you allow a poor prowler to escort you, my lady?” The man’s voice was burly and warm, bringing the familiarities of Men back to awareness and a softened expression to the maiden’s face. “Stealth has always been my brother’s talent and not mine, I’m afraid. I prefer open battle to hiding among trees.”

Gwaeron took his offered arm, finding herself grateful for the stability, and drew an irony from his comments. “What a contrast we make, then, for my skills lie with stealth and concealment.” The taller Gondorian looked sidelong down at her, his brow knit in confusion. “I see my brother’s not told you I’m a ranger the same as him.”

“I was unaware… In fact, Aragorn never made mention of you in our few conversations.” An intrigued look crossed his battle-worn face and his next words sent a queer feeling to settle in the woman’s stomach. “I should like very much to know more of you, my lady.”

In her uneasy silence, Gwaeron broke eye contact with the noble-born soldier and took a breath to sort herself out. Before he could speak again, their attention was turned quickly to the galloping of a great hound straight for them, barking menacingly and clearly aiming for the man touching his mistress. Tar bounded at break-neck speed, ready to tackle the stranger when Gwaeron put out her hand, fingers straight, and commanded firmly in elvish for her hound to halt. The dog silenced and skidded to a stop a few lengths before reaching them, still poised on his haunches, itching and ready to jump the man who dared hold her. In the meantime Boromir had drawn the waist knife he always wore and pushed the weakened lady half behind him to defend her. Almost irritated by such display, the lady ranger pushed down the strong arm holding out the dagger and reproved him. “There’s no need for such measures, sir. He’s no danger once I give command.”

Unconvinced, the Gondorian gestured to the lowly growling hound with blade still out. “I would more easily believe so if the beast weren’t making sounds like a warg at my throat.”

Brushing past him, the woman moved to her great ‘beast’ and took his head in her hands to effortlessly calm the dog, waiting until the tail started thumping the ground and his body relaxed. She turned back to her armed escort with a little impatience. “Put away the knife, Boromir.”

“You mean to say this is your hound?” Skirting around so that he came closer with the woman still between the dog and himself, Boromir chuckled nervously. “I can see he’s well equipped for your protection.”

Gwaeron answered that he was and told the captain how she’d been gifted him as a pup from Elrond’s son, Elrohir. The tenseness drained after a bit more talk and she began again in the direction of the talan, closely followed by the two males on either side of her that were dubious of each other and more than attentive to herself. Her steps matched the length of the captain’s stride and, though she met his gaze but rarely, Gwaeron could feel his eyes surveying her as they walked. Her headache returned to full force when they reached the base of the stairs and she stumbled slightly from the pain, soon feeling Boromir’s hand supporting her elbow and his inquiring voice.

Another called to her from behind them, but she could not at the moment move to see its source. “Gwaeron!” It came closer now and soon the woman was traded from one set of hands to another, catching a glimpse of blonde hair before being pulled to this one’s chest. “Thank you, Boromir, I’ll take care of her. You may go back to the others.” She now recognized Legolas as the speaker and immediately calmed in her friend’s caring embrace. The prince’s voice was somewhat clipped as he dismissed his comrade and pulled her into his arms, mounting the stairs with Tar close on his heels.

Setting her gently on the cot, Legolas sat beside her and asked what he could do to ease her discomfort and was answered merely by having his hand brought to the curls at her crown. They said nothing more as he carded his fingers soothingly through her hair and waited for the pain to pass; Gwaeron with her eyes shut tightly, and Legolas with his keen pair finding every change that had come about in his friend who was as dear as a sister to him. “What has happened to you, huntress? Whatever wounds you have born have made you unwell.”

“You have never been in such a place, Legolas… You have never loved someone you could not share your future with, because to share that future would mean their death should they love you in return.” The breath she took was shaken with emotion and he put his other hand on her arm to give any strength he could. “I don’t see how I can take another, for every man who could show interest would only bring my thoughts to Orophin. I can never be rid of him, and nor do I wish to be.”

The elf brought her gaze to his from where it had fallen and spoke fervently. “Have you not thought to yield to your heart’s guidance? That its path ends well in your favor?”

A small light flickered hopefully in her eyes before being quickly put out. “In my favor, only. If I should keep him bound to me… he’ll die, and it would be my doing.” Crumpling to tears at even the mention of such a future, Gwaeron covered her eyes and let herself be pulled again into the hug of her friend.

Legolas cradled her and made to speak his mind, to tell her exactly what she was doing by leaving Orophin, but was stopped by the firm warning of Galadriel in his mind. “ _No, my prince. It is not yet time for her to receive Orophin’s fate and understand the choice she’s made._ ”

Sighing, the young royal conceded and rubbed the ranger’s back to comfort her what little he could. “When _, then? They neither of them can endure this torture of distance much longer. Something must be done, my Lady.”_ He let the words convey his worried urgency as his fingers felt the woman’s thinned frame beneath his touch, pain in her every move.

 _“It_ will _be done. Your concern is rightly felt, but Gwaeron shall come to me soon. This will not occur while your Fellowship remains, however, and that is all I may say.”_ Nodding, Legolas accepted the much wiser Lady’s counsel and tried to content himself with the time he spent at her side while he could.

 

An hour had not passed in full before Aragorn returned to the flet with Véredhiel sleeping easily in his vigilant hold. Legolas greeted him with a nod, pressing a hand to the brow of his own charge who lay in a fitful sleep of her own, and spoke soft words before rising to meet the other ranger. Having only heard of the child and yet to see her for himself, the elf approached with keen interest and smiled at the sight of something so long forgotten as an elven baby. “This is their daughter, then?” His fingers played wondrously at feather-soft curls of their own volition.

Aragorn could not hide his frown at the word. “She is not of their _blood_ , but was found.” His correction seemed almost to be ignored as Legolas reached to hold the little one, his eyes never leaving her.

“But do you not see she was _meant_ to belong to them? Your sister’s colors and Orophin’s eyes could not have been better bestowed upon a child of their making… The Valar have truly given them to be her parents in all _but_ blood.” His words seemed to change the man’s view enough so that Aragorn’s face could not belie his realization. Legolas watched this with a sad smile. “You see? Gwaeron must return to Orophin before another life fades needlessly e’er the end of this war.”

The ranger’s grey eyes moved across the room to his sister, desperate as they regarded her state. “If you are right, then what can be done?”

Shaking his head, Legolas shifted the babe more securely in his arms. “We can’t but care for and encourage her as needed…”

Aragorn fell into a seat facing the woman of his blood, his heart clenching for the inability to heal this hurt that engulfed her. “I cannot sit by and do _nothing_.”

“Your presence, alone, gives her the strength she cannot draw from herself. There is nothing we can force her to understand or change. She must come to it as she is ready, and I believe she’s started on the way to doing so. Gwaeron has come to see there will not be a man she can give herself to in Orophin’s place.”

A quizzical look came from his friend. “What do you mean?”

Finding a seat across from him, Legolas explained. “I met her today as Boromir brought her to the talan, and it was no great task to see the Captain admires your sister. I believe she tried to see him in the light of a potential mate, but could not. Gwaeron spoke to me when I took her inside and said how every feeling another could bring her, only returned her thoughts to Orophin.”

“Her heart has long been with Orophin, I can understand her not being able to truly withdraw it again. But her love is too great to let him fade with her death.” The clean, but wearied ranger reasoned aloud and sat a moment in silence before realizing his brother in arms had made no response. Legolas’ expression bore a shadowed gravity that did not suit the fair prince, causing Aragorn to press him. “What is it, my friend?”

The Greenleaf paused a breath before meeting his eye and speaking plainly. “Orophin is already fading.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 5/13

**Chapter Summary:** _“What am I to do?” Her whisper was too quiet to disturb the calm of the woods surrounding her, but still managed to draw an answer._

**Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

The Fellowship made their quiet goodbyes to Gwaeron and Véredhiel on the dawning of their departure, sadness tingeing every look at the babe as the halflings each took their turn holding ‘Verry’ while the mother made her own farewells. The lady ranger could hardly be consoled as she embraced Legolas and her brother once more, uncertain of their outcome. “Swear to me you’ll live, Estel, that we’ll see each other at the end of all this.” Tears kept her from begging him in a voice any louder than a whisper.

He fingered through her curls familiarly. “Only if you promise me the same, Gwaeron. You must take care of yourself, not for my sake, but for Véredhiel’s.” His sister responded with a miserable nod before he pressed one more kiss to her temple and forced himself to turn away where lord Celeborn beckoned him.

The cheerless eyes of a bereft sister followed him a moment before turning away, wandering aimlessly until they connected with those of Boromir. He approached slowly, but with purpose, and stood before her in silent regard until the proper words finally came. “My lady, it is my wish to come to you when these things are brought to end… to ask leave to court you.” The Captain wisely paused his speech to notice the trembling of her hands. “There are few certainties in such dark times as these, I do not know my fate. But I beg you to consider me.”

Gwaeron stayed quiet until she felt some semblance of composure fill her to speak, her eyes lowering to his chest before daring to meet his hopeful gaze again. “You give me honor, Boromir, to make such a request.” Her hands found each other to hold at bay the visible weakness in them.

“ _But_ …” His voice stained at the edges with bitterness.

She lifted her eyes to his and sought to convey the sincerity of her apology. “I can grant no promise, my lord, that is not mine to give. I pray for your protection as you go, but please, do not set your hopes on me.” The kindness that had showed in his eyes moments ago now melted away to a cold indifference, but the Gondorian said nothing more, only nodding to her briskly before moving away back to their supplies. The lady ranger felt her expression crumple further in guilt and tears once more wet her cheeks.

Of the hobbits, Meriadoc and Peregrin came up to her with Véredhiel bouncing carefully in Pippin’s arms. Gwaeron smiled sorely at the pair, trying to dispel the sadness in her countenance that theirs seemed to echo in kind. Pippin gave up the baby to her arms and landed a peck on the little rosy cheek before letting go. “We’ll see each other again, miss. And you mustn’t let Verry grow up too much before then, if you please.”

The request made her laugh a little, squeezing a few more tears from her eyes that were not all miserable, and she dabbed at them with the back of her hand as she bent down to give both young hobbits an earnest kiss on the cheek. “I shall certainly try, Pippin, though I’ll make no guarantees.”

Recovering from his blush a bit more quickly than his cousin, Merry hooked his thumbs through his suspenders and managed a light-hearted remark. “Don’t you worry for it, my lady. With mine and Pip’s luck, she’ll be twice our size in a month.” The few of them shared smiles in farewell and then the Grey Company collected themselves and took the borrowed boats of Lorien to continue their journeys. Elven bards sang as they took their leave in the mist of morning and as the last stern disappeared down the river Gwaeron turned away from the gathering, trying not to hear each sorrowful tone of music ripple through her.

Véredhiel fell back to sleep as her mother walked, awoken for goodbyes much earlier than the child was used to, and through sufficient wrappings gave Gwaeron the warmth to stay out of doors while her thoughts raced. Images of those she cared for flew behind her eyes as her mind saw the hurt reflected in their faces: Rúmil, Ana, Legolas, Boromir, her brother, Orophin… Each pierced her with guilt as loneliness crept into her bones. “What am I to do?” Her whisper was too quiet to disturb the calm of the woods surrounding her, but still managed to draw an answer.

“There is counsel to be taken, if you would have it, lady Dúnedain.” The voice, and soon the vision herself, of Lady Galadriel came forth in the clearing and approached with the grace ever-present in the monarch. “And you are not alone, Gwaeron, when there are so many who care for and love you. Yet you have not let them in. Why?” Moving to a living bench molded of mallorn roots, the Golden Lady beckoned the ranger to sit beside her.

Obeying the silent summoning, Gwaeron sat and adjusted the babe in her hold who now made a great yawn. Smiling, Galadriel shared a glance with her before moving to take the little one and cradle her fondly. The mortal woman seemed to glimpse the similar sight of long ago when Celebrian or Arwen curled resting in those same loving arms. “You see that I’ve held my share of elflings, child.” She remarked with a side-glance of piercing bright eyes and a smirk.

Gwaeron bowed her head with a weary smile, acquiescing. “Yes, my Lady.”

“You still do not answer my question.” The silence was cut with her solemn reminder.

Sighing with the wretched feeling of tears returned to burn her eyes, the woman fidgeted with empty hands and glanced fruitlessly for any semblance of an answer to give. “Am I keeping them out? If I do, it is to keep them from the agony that fills me each night and day. If I let them in… to tell them of what I know, what I feel… it would do naught but bring pain unbearable.” As she reasoned, the maiden’s eyes were finally drawn in desperation to the high-elf beside her and seemed to plead for a way out of the torment fate was dragging her through.

Rising to her full height, Galadriel extended a hand to the young mortal to help her stand, leading her away. “Come, there is something your waking eyes must see.” As they walked, Gwaeron found herself recognizing the path to the Lady’s mirror, a place she had never fully entered for fear of what had been spoken in her youth. It was only a moment before the vine-sculpted basin came into view, its beautiful silver bowl already full with deceptively calm water. A chill crept over her skin.

Looking to where she had left the lady ranger a safe distance from her stand, the Lady regarded the Dúnedain for a moment before inquiring calmly. “Does it frighten you, daughter of kings? What does your thought anticipate?”

“I am—I am frightened to know I shall see him.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly.

Galadriel’s head tilted to fan waist-long golden hair like a curtain around the child still in her grasp. “Does Orophin give you cause for such fear?”

“Not himself. Only, only what I know will happen if I…” The end of her sentence died in her throat.

“What has been shown to you, child?”

Shaking her head, Gwaeron broke the petrifying stare she had held upon the mirror, blinking hard and looking up at the elf Queen. “You ask, but already you know, don’t you? Half the elves in Lothlorien have heard my grief in the night… But you know as I do they are more than just nightmares.”

Galadriel granted a nod in answer before posing another question. “Why have you left him when you know he will die even without you?”

The words ran through the maiden like spear through her chest, causing her to seize with guilt as she explained brokenly. “H-he falls because I am _there_ … because he sees me and loves me and, and it is _my_ fault that he dies for loving me!” Gwaeron’s body shook now with panic from this new perspective and felt her eyes pulled once again in the direction of the basin.

“Look into the mirror, Gwaeron. See for yourself.” The offer was molded into a gentle command and she obeyed, taking step upon step until her starved and ill-treated reflection stared back at her.

Soon the water rippled and her eyes were full of Orophin holding Véredhiel for the first time, the babe’s fist tight in his hair while his brilliant eyes shone up at her and at last Gwaeron recognized the look of a man deep in love. Her face burned when the scene shifted to their argument, her rejection, and she stifled a sob to see his face in those moments as though she were reliving them. Next were her visions, the battle played out as she had seen a thousand times until the differences regarding Orophin were made clear.

Her beloved fought tirelessly, but could not escape being caught at every turn by sword, axe, claw, and metals flying at odd angles. The wounds slowed him down until he appeared as a mortal man drawing his last breaths. Hunched over and stiff with pain, Orophin looked up to see an on-coming uruk run at him with sword drawn. ‘Gwaeron.’ He whispered to himself, watching his enemy come as time seemed to move as slowly as his pulse. ‘Take care of what’s ours, _faril nin_.’ Forcing his legs to stand firm, his weapons now cast aside, Orophin turned his hands palm up and let the uruk’s blade cut through his body.

Gwaeron staggered away from the mirror and fell hard on her knees as she cried out through trembling fingers. It was her fault. How blind had she become not to see that the blade would be _welcome_ , that he would _let_ himself fall… all for the loss of her love? Vaguely she heard the echoing cry of her baby, only for the sound to fade with the expert soothing of another experienced mother. That soothing presence was not long in coming to her side and Gwaeron felt a hand rest on her forearm.

Struggling to grasp at anything, the woman sobbed. “Even should I return to him, I put off his death only as long as my own life lasts. There is nothing I can do to save him from fading.”

The Lady of the Wood smiled knowingly and set Véredhiel in the ranger’s arms carefully as she spoke. “Do you believe you are the only one Orophin loves, Gwaeron? It is a man and woman who begin a family, but add a child and it extends that love further beyond merely the couple.”

Watery green eyes moved to the innocent baby in her lap and were accompanied by a few weapon-calloused fingers stroking the sleeping face. A smile blossomed across Gwaeron’s face as realization struck, blissful peace swelling in her chest. “Can it be I have held the answer so close this whole while, and only now understand?” The words were more to herself than anyone and her body calmed from its distress as she gazed down at the perfectly beautiful infant. Any doubt of Véredhiel’s parentage now fled with the utmost clarity that she was she and Orophin’s daughter. Gwaeron turned quickly to look at Galadriel. “I must go to him…”

“He is already gone, child. Orophin’s watch on the borders was extended by his own request.”

“Will you not allow me to go to him?” The ranger begged.

“Gwaeron, you do not realize your own weakness if you seek to make a journey such as this. My borders carry greater threat now even than when you came to us, and not a threat I would expose you to in your state.” As if needing evidence to prove that her health was much the worse for wear, the Lady assisted her to stand and had to steady her in the simple task of finding balance. “You must recover your strength now for his return. The sleep you get now will bring the rest you’ve been missing all this time.”

At her assurances Gwaeron felt a weight leave her as if a blanket of snow and ice had finally fallen away, leaving her wet and trembling, but finally growing warm. It was a feeling she so desperately wanted to share with Orophin.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have art that goes with this story... at my DeviantART profile. ^_^
> 
> iluvobiwan91.deviantart.com

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 6/13

**Chapter Summary:** _Orophin could make out the shadows that remembered past horrors. Glimpses of battle, of flight without hope for escape, of death, of love lost… and he knew. “I will go.”_

**Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

Gwaeron felt life returning to her bones enough in the next month that she devoted all her time away from Véredhiel to the running, riding, and training that gave her back the look of ranger. The woman’s appetite returned, to Anauriel’s relief, and soon restored the healthy curves to her waist and legs and a hearty blush to her cheeks. The visions ceased in the night and one could enter the talan at evening’s noon to find mortal mother and immortal child curled up in linens belonging to Orophin, both soothed and brought to peace with his scent foreshadowing his presence. Filled with hope and conviction, Gwaeron now eagerly waited for her beloved’s return, determined to heal the wounds she had inflicted upon him and repent of the wrongs that had scourged them both.

It was early, just after the sun had begun to peer through Lórien’s canopy, that the lady ranger walked quietly past her sleeping daughter and into the kitchen where Anauriel was already brewing tea for them. Gwaeron’s hands were occupied with the task of trying to weave her curls into the submission of a braid as she sat at the table across from her friend, sharing a ‘good morning’ smile. After taking a drink of steaming serenity Ana inquired of the woman. “You’re dressed in your warrior’s garb, where are you off to?”

“Meldiriel and some others asked me to join their sparring this morning.” Her answer was given as she tied off the knot at the nape of her neck and then reached for the sword called for her care as she rested it in her lap. “Véredhiel may be another hour or so asleep before needing her bottle, will you be all right to stay with her until I return?”

Smiling, the elleth nodded. “Of course. Perhaps after a while I will bring her down to the fields so that we can both watch you train.” Gwaeron could not hide the mirth in her eyes as she glanced to her friend. The look brought a mock-indignant expression to Ana’s face, but a blush all the same. “If Rúmil happens to be training as well, then I cannot help the galadhrim my eyes choose to follow.” Both ladies giggled softly at the pitiful attempt at justification and sipped at their breakfast until Gwaeron had finished tending her weapons and laced up her boots to depart.

 

Sweat dripped heavily from her brow to eventually land in the kicked dust of a sparring court. Gwaeron’s breathing was ragged after a mere twenty minutes in the ring with a quite agile elf, and she couldn’t help but feel rather age the way this centuries-old lad was besting her. His name was Daugion, ‘of the army,’ and it took little time to understand why the title fit. He drilled the ranger with moves and combinations that she had either grown lax in practicing, or that were entirely new, and it took all her speed to move out of his long reach. The unfortunate fact was that their spar had put her entirely on the defensive, and often necessitated her retreat.

“Come now, ranger. I’ve seen you fight before, should I not be learning from _you_?” Her galadhrim opponent goaded, fueling the frustration Gwaeron turned at herself and sparking the fire that beckoned her to attack. Lunging with a thrust, she watched him twist easily out of the way and adjusted her steps accordingly, narrowly missing his waist with her blade. Daugion arched an eyebrow at the change in her and then began to change his own tactics, not wishing her anticipate what he would do next.

Throwing herself into each move, Gwaeron blocked and cut aggressively, earning a nick here and a bruise there which she took pride in knowing had been a struggle for him to make. The weight of his strikes hardened to match hers and when their swords clashed together it shook her stance with the vibrations of singing metal. With arms twisting in a swift and complicated maneuver, Gwaeron suddenly had the elf’s sword trapped flat between her hilt and chest and kicked out forcefully, landing him on his back without a weapon. Daugion made to throw his weight and regain fighting stance when she quickly cast his sword aside and leapt to tackle him back down, her knees pinning his shoulders to the dirt below and the shaft of her sword laying coolly against his throat.

“Surely you realize there’s not enough weight in you to keep me down…” His hands grasped her thighs, ready to throw her off until another blade was pulled from behind her and aimed atop his heart.

“The weight of my blade is not enough for you, then?” The dagger poised at his chest pricked its tip through his tunic and threatened the firm muscle beneath. “Is this not where you yield?” A hard look and silence were all she received in answer. Letting the amusement in her eyes absorb his disgruntlement, Gwaeron sheathed the knife and stood to remove herself from him, putting away also her sword before inspecting the few tears he’d left in her clothing.

“Well done, lass! Daugion does not get enough challenge from us, sometimes.” Meldiriel trotted up to her with a smirk and playful push on her arm.

“I think the challenge was given more to me. But I need this sort of exercise, it’s been long enough now, I’ve gotten soft.”

“It’s just good to see you with us, again, Gwaeron. We couldn’t help but worry when… Things changed.” The elleth was uncertain how to mention the woman’s former grief, but soon reassured.

“Thank you, it’s good to feel myself again. Seeing my brother helped many things, and I’m sorry if I kept Legolas from you while they were here…”

A pleasant blush spread over the lady galadhrim’s face. “No, I am glad he was able to bring you comfort. He did not leave me wanting for affection.” They shared a knowing smile before the ranger’s attention was drawn to Tar’s barking and the sound of her daughter’s playful voice. Anauriel stood close with Rúmil as he encouraged the great hound to jump up with paws on his shoulders and scratched on his coat, enthralling the elfling who looked on safe in Ana’s arms. It was a sweet setting they made, and Gwaeron longed for the moments she and Orophin could make such a picture.

Turning back to Meldiriel, she raised her brows puckishly and tilted her head. “When shall the Prince of Greenwood make an offer for your hand, do you think? He has courted you long enough for elven years.”

The elleth’s smile was tight, seeking to display mirth, but not quite reaching it. “When my Greenleaf agrees to live among the gold leaves of Lothlorien.” Her words gave Gwaeron pause and looked at her silently in question. “I cannot leave my home, nor my Lady, Gwaeron. It is where I was born, where I have always been. Thranduil’s halls stifle me, though they house his son whom I love, and the forests there have grown dark and men do rightly name it Mirkwood now.”

“Legolas would never keep you where you do not feel your heart to belong…”

“I know, and he has told me as much. I do love him, and one day we will be bound, if it is the will of the Valar. The sea does not yet call to him, and has not called to me… perhaps we will remain in Arda together.”

Talk of the elves’ future tasted bittersweet in her mouth, but the ranger touched Meldiriel with meaning and smiled encouragingly. “If it is so, then our children will play together in the woods and fields of these lands while we watch on and laugh.” Brightening at such a thought the galadhrim nodded, grinning in all her radiance.

“Will you join our hunting party tomorrow, lady ranger?” Approached by a humble Daugion, Gwaeron glanced over to her daughter before making answer to his offer.

“Don’t worry about the little one, Gwaeron! Ana and I can watch over her for you.” Rúmil happily supplied from where he stood with the elleth and babe a few paces away. Laughing, her answer was given and she mingled amongst the galadhrim naturally as they discussed setting their departure before dawn on the next day.

 

Orophin sat perched high in a tree on the western border of the realm, invisible to man and elf behind long branches and boughs fleshed with leaves to cover him. Across a distance, he could spy another of his galadhrim and heard his subtle call to confirm there were no disturbances at the edge of Lórien. He tried to calm his mind, to let the sounds of his forest speak to him through the rustling of morning birds and gentle blowing through trees as old as he was, but the face of one woman gave no rest to his thoughts.

With ears still trained on his watch, it was only a moment before Orophin recognized the foreign sound of approaching hooves in contrast to the woodland’s typical silence. Shifting his focus back to the task at hand, the elf descried the familiar sight of a pure white steed galloping through the trees directly toward the city and murmured with a smirk. “Imladris.” Signaling for his counterpart to remain up-tree, Orophin climbed and leapt down effortlessly from his roost and stood directly in the on-comer’s path, appearing as though a looming sprite or shadow of the forest in his galadhrim panoply.

Sitting back to steady his spirited horse, the rider held a hand up in greeting and dismounted the elegant creature when it calmed its prancing. “Well met, Orophin.” The lord that approached him held the same resonance in his voice as the Lady of Lórien, their eyes related in their witnessing the ages of old.

“My lord Glorfindel, your journey was swift. What word do you bring from the House of Peredhil?” The warden’s welcome was to the point, shorter than what they had been accustomed to over past centuries, but the noble elf seemed to echo his abruptness with a tone of exigency.

“I bring urgent tidings from lord Elrond that must be brought to your lord and lady at once.”

“Then come. Give your steed half a rest while we fetch my own horse, and I shall bring you to them.” Leading the warrior elf down one of the invisible paths of the galadhrim, Orophin glanced back to see Glorfindel gathering the reins and following closely with his animal at a walk. “Messages from Imladris are not often your duty to bear. What news is it that must come from your lips and not the correspondence your lord holds with my lady?” There were no qualms felt for probing such details. Orophin learned long ago and fully understood he ranked high enough among the guard of his liege to hear such reports from the source.

Glorfindel knew this, but was at an age of wisdom, also, that did not concern him to judge critically with whom he spoke when his words were truth.  “It will be known soon enough to the whole of the galadhrim.” Though bright in form, the countenance of the aged warrior darkened with the words he prepared to speak. “The Istari… Saruman the _White_.” The title was nearly spat out in contempt. “Holds no longer the honor of _ally_ among the free peoples. That wizard has been drawn into service of the Dark Lord and has bred an army from Isengard that now makes its way to where Theoden king seeks to protect his people at Helm’s Deep. It is my task to advise lord Celeborn that he send a number of your elves to aid these Second Born.” Gravity pulled his speech to a momentary pause, and the two elves shared a look that reflected it. “Without aid, Orophin, those people will fall to slaughter. It will affect the future Men should Rohan be taken.”

The meaning of such statements were made all the more significant by the weight of experience in Glorfindel’s gaze. Through it, Orophin could make out the shadows that remembered past horrors. Glimpses of battle, of flight without hope for escape, of death, of love lost… and he knew. “I will go.”

Such conviction was not hidden from his mistress when Orophin stood among the consulting lords and lady. While her husband discussed details with Glorfindel and Haldir, Galadriel glanced subtly to her silent galadhrim warden at the entrance of the natural room and knew, with no need of her especial senses, what Orophin would do. Unable to protect Gwaeron from the intangible foe that he believed assailed her, he would go to fight the enemy that assailed these people, at whatever cost. It was this fact that worried the queen of Lórien.

With orders to muster the galadhrim by the sun’s setting and make ready for the journey to battle, the Marchwarden and his brother exited the chamber and set out to do as their liege instructed. A soft call in his thoughts beckoned the younger elf to halt his determined stride and turn to see his Lady standing up the stairs with her eyes upon him. “A moment, Orophin.” The graceful wisdom in her voice brought him to stand obediently before her, waiting for whatever task or words she had to give him.

“My lady, should I not be preparing…” His obedience was not, however, without its query.

Galadriel smiled indulgently, but shook her head to answer him. “Have you seen your huntress of late?” She could feel how his countenance fell at the mention of their endearment.

With eyes dropped to his feet, anywhere but his Lady’s gaze, Orophin answered. “No, my lady. I have been defending your borders and unable to inquire after her since my return this morning.” The silence he received after his vague response evoked a fuller response and, breathing deeply as if in pain, he spoke again. “Last I saw her, she was curled weakly in Aragorn’s arms. It was at my talan… she would not look at me.” The last words made his heart clench within him and the warden turned away as if to prevent his Lady from seeing the organ falter in his chest.

“Do not misinterpret this woman, Orophin. Gwaeron is young and full of love, two reasons that have encouraged this confusion tangled inside her. She was caught in an ocean’s wave, seeking the shore but swimming away in the tumult.”

Orophin pinched his brow as he listened patiently to her, then a key turned to unlock something she had said and he turned his head quickly. “ _Was_?” Facing her fully now, the strength seemed to return to his posture and he prompted. “Tell me.” When his queen said nothing Orophin took the few strides to close the distance between them, drawing near enough to reveal the fragile hope building in his care-worn eyes. “ _Tell_ me.”

A hoarse breath begged her in the guise of her warden’s voice and Galadriel lifted her warm hand to his cheek with a gentle smile. “Gwaeron has cleared the salt from her eyes to find her sky is up, her earth down, and her heart most assuredly with you.” With each word Orophin’s heart swelled and his hopeful prayers were answered, returning amidst tears the vibrant blue that his eyes had once been. Taking his lady’s hand to kiss the knuckles devotedly, the elf bowed his thanks and with one more look of gratitude fled down the stairway.

Long legs filled with renewed energy carried him at a sprint down the mallorn and through Caras Galadhon toward his talan. _She was back_. It was his Gwaeron again. The locked-away desire to take her in his arms had now been given freedom and allowed permission, and his body sprang to life for it. “Gwaeron!” Without realizing it, or caring, his voice called out for her in the gloom of a clouded midday. No longer did that veil over the sun mirror the dark clouds over his hope.

He flew up the steps of his home and burst through the open entry, the name of his huntress on his lips and his eyes darting through every room to find her. Halting suddenly in the bedroom, he found Anauriel sitting to play with a well-pleased Véredhiel in her lap. The elleth started at his arrival, but soon smiled when surprise faded away. “Orophin! You’re back…”

“Where is Gwaeron?” Quickly, but without bite, he cut her off in his need.

“She has gone hunting with some of the galadhrim who spar with her, they left before dawn.”

His face fell a little, then further when he remembered his departure for Rohan that night. “Where have they gone?”

The elleth was apologetic for her ignorance, telling him she had only trusted to their return and not thought of the particulars of direction or distance. Some of the weight returned to Orophin’s chest, though not as heavy as before, and his gaze came to rest upon the babe sitting upright in his friend’s lap. Véredhiel. Warmth spread easily through him at the sight of the growing child and he stepped toward her. With matching blue eyes, she watched him draw close and smiled a toothless infant’s smile as she reached up to be held. “ _Véredhiel_.” He murmured softly as the elfling fit perfectly in his arms, laying her head for a few moments on his chest before finding his braids to tempting for little fingers to resist. The elf pressed his lips to her temple and whispered sweet elvish words the child could not yet understand. How strong he felt, holding his daughter again like this.

Reluctant to interrupt such a moment, Anauriel could not keep herself from asking just what was going on. “Why have you returned, Orophin? Your coming was not looked for or else Gwaeron…” The galadhrim turned to her expectantly. “She would have been here to meet you, had she known.”

With a nod, Orophin’s eyes unfocused and he smiled gently, remembering his joyful revelation. “I know.” Seeing her eyebrows gain height in surprise, he affirmed it again. “I know. I came to see her, to speak with her before I depart.”

The elleth’s face fell. “Depart?”

Grimly nodding once more, he explained the situation and why they were to muster arms and galadhrim to the call. “The people of Rohan are in desperate need, we cannot linger beyond dawn.”

Anauriel tensed at the mention of soon-coming battle, remembering with panic the description Rúmil had given of Gwaeron’s dreams. Orophin could not die in battle, not now that his beloved’s heart was returned to him, not when things were poised to restore their happiness together. Standing, she put an urgent hand on the elf’s arm and entreated him. “Orophin you must come to her. _Tonight_. Before you depart, you _must._ Please don’t leave until you have spoken with her.”

Surprised by such a reaction in the elleth, Orophin assured her with a slight nod and turned his eyes away in thought, holding the child closer and pressing his lips to her small fingers. “I will come.” A grim resolve set in his movements, he almost painfully relinquished Véredhiel back to Ana’s arms and touched her once more before leaving the flat.

With a soft whine, Véredhiel reached for the retreating form of her father and put a fuss until Anauriel gently bounced the baby on her hip. “Hush now, Véredhiel… You will see him again.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iluvobiwan91.deviantart.com

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 7/13

**Chapter Summary:** _“You would take this mortal and her orphan as your own… You sell the life Eru gave you for such a paltry sum.”_

**Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

The familiar figure of a ranger strode easily through the paths of the Golden Wood as night fell. Exhausted, but content with what her day had produced, Gwaeron smiled to herself as the talan holding her child came into view. A note from Anauriel greeted her on the table as she came in, explaining that the elleth had left the baby sleeping sound so that she might take time with Rúmil. The woman smiled and touched her finger to the parchment, earning a copy of the well-scribed runes printed on her skin. “It seems I only just missed her.” Musing to herself, Gwaeron stepped further into the flat to assure herself that Véredhiel was indeed sleeping deeply.

Fondly touching the little hairs of her head, the ranger pulled back her cowl and pressed her lips to the blanket draped over her shoulders. “Had I known how I would miss you, little one, I would not have stayed away so long.” Speaking softly so her daughter would hear only in dreams, Gwaeron was satisfied to watch the child breathe for a moment before moving away to clean herself from the smells of the hunt. A forgotten lullaby Arwen had taught her long ago came to mind and the huntress hummed it until she remembered the words, scrubbing quickly and dressing lightly to lay back down with her daughter and finally falling asleep with the sweet tune on her lips.

 

With skilled hands Orophin suited quickly in his armor, readying himself sooner than necessary in the hope of having time enough to see her before the march to Rohan. The stillness of an empty armory was soon disturbed when Haldir entered and stood watching his brother prepare, barely acknowledged by a glance from the younger. Crossing his arms, the firstborn lifted his chin and broke the silence. “Rúmil has made mention that your ever-changeable ranger wants you back.” Orophin visibly bristled, but continued to fasten and adjust his panoply efficiently. Dissatisfied with the lack of response, he pressed on. “And will you _receive_ her? This _girl_ who alters her words with every wind?” The annoyance he felt toward the mortal bled into his speech, having believed her to be firm in her denial of his brother. A decision he had condoned when she told him of it months ago.

Before the Marchwarden could speak anymore against the woman, Orophin whirled from where he had stood facing away and strode up to his brother until the flames in his glare licked at his face. “I never _released_ her, Haldir.” Without raising his voice, the threat in his tone was still delivered through clenched teeth. “And by Elbereth’s light, if that _girl_ asked me to give my life for hers, I would fall on my own sword with pleasure.”

What distance there was between them closed when Haldir took a step to meet him squarely. “You would take this _mortal_ and her _orphan_ as your own… You sell the life Eru gave you for such a paltry sum.” The quiet that followed his words could have split the ears of a son of Man.

Orophin looked him up and down, pity passing through the eyes that had hardened in righteous anger toward his eldest brother. “You know nothing. You _cannot_ know.” Backing away half a step, he stood tall and gestured openly. “You do not see that my heart is already in her keeping, that in all but deed I am Gwaeron’s bonded. You cannot comprehend the knowledge that Véredhiel was given to us, that it doesn’t matter whether mine or Gwaeron’s blood gives her life, all that matters is when I hold that baby she is my daughter.”

Bafflement and incredulity were all the Marchwarden could spare for emotion in his features, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. “Do you not know you forsake your immortality? You _must_ know will die, Orophin.” Though urgency remained, his voice had calmed and was now almost pleading with his brother.

“We may die in battle, Haldir, do we not still fight?” Sighing, Orophin walked a few steps away in resignation, glancing outside to see the sun setting into darkness. There were precious few hours left.  Turning his head only, the second-born spoke once more and hoped the elf would understand. “Should the Valar will that I live for all ages and have been able to love a mortal woman, then so be it. If not, and I do fade at her death, then I beg you to accept and know it is my happiness to be ever at her side. Please grant me that, Haldir.” With his back to his brother, Orophin took up his sword and left.

 

Meeting Tar at the door to his flet gave Orophin more relief than he would have thought, for sighting the hound held the promise of seeing his lady, and nothing could have given the galadhrim more pleasure than knowing she was close. Stroking the dog’s ears and neck absently, Orophin moved into the talan and silently padded through the rooms, halting when tears nearly choked his vision at what he saw. “Elbereth…” He breathed the Valar’s name in awe and knelt carefully before the image of the child asleep in his cot and his huntress wrapped protectively around her. Trembling, he took the hand draped over Véredhiel and held it to his lips in reverence, hoping his beloved would wake but unwilling to be the cause even as tears of relief slipped unchecked from his eyes.

He studied Gwaeron faithfully, taking in the damp hair that curled above her head and draped freely on her shoulder, long eyelashes that fluttered over freckled cheeks and told of dreams he prayed were peaceful. Unable to withhold a caress to that cheek, Orophin smiled to find it rosy and fuller than when last he had beheld her, frail and weakened. Health had restored her vigor and contentment settled upon her figure that he longed to take part in.

An elven horn sounded in the distance to muster the galadhrim and he turned briefly at the offending noise, returning his gaze to her with measured breath. Hovering over them, he laid a kiss upon the child’s head but dared not to touch his lips to Gwaeron’s, instead pressing his face into the hand he had claimed and breathed her in once more. “I will miss you, faril nin, _my love._ ” Murmured against her skin, he closed her fingers and placed the precious hand back against the elfling. With great effort Orophin rose from the bedside and gathered up his deeply colored warden’s cloak, fastening it under his armor and taking his helmet in hand before sparing a final look for those he held most dear. Another blow for the galadhrim carried him away.

 

“I will miss you, faril nin.” Gwaeron heard Orophin’s voice distantly, but knew it to be his without a doubt. Véredhiel’s frightened screams soon filled her ears and the woman found herself at Mirkwood’s border where Tar had first heard father and child amidst the trees. The baby’s voice now came from the darkened wood. Thoughtless to danger, maternal instincts guided the ranger’s body into action and dove into the forest in search of her beloved oath.

Warmth and freezing cold seized her body when again she heard him. “My love…” Orophin’s soft words now originated where Véredhiel’s cries sounded. Sprinting at her utmost could not bring her to them fast enough and she wove between shrub and oak to come upon Beriohtarion’s body, already dead, and the frightened child barely held in his lifeless arms. Rushing to catch her daughter, Gwaeron tucked her safely against her bosom and sought to calm the fretting infant. Her eyes scanned the clearing she stood in for danger, surrounded by shadow and darkness through the ring of trees.

A faint light at the edge of the shadows drew her in, and as she stepped closer the outline of her beloved came just into view, like a tower on a foggy day. Orophin stood in elven armor, his blood-red cloak fanned about him as she reached out to touch him, his actions mirroring her own. “Faril nin… I will miss you.”

Gwaeron jolted awake and immediately sought the face to match the voice she had just heard, to hold the hand that had reached out for her own and met only an empty room in muted light. Véredhiel still slept easily at her side and the woman rubbed a palm over her eyes, glancing out the window toward a sunless dawn. An overcast sky put a chill in the air and goose flesh on her arms. Getting out of bed with some stiffness and a shiver, Gwaeron situated her still-warm blanket up and over the baby’s ears and tucked her in, wrapping a shawl around herself and moving to stand out on the porch.

Tar awoke gradually and perked up when his mistress stepped past him, hopping up so he could lean into her side, tail wagging comfortingly against her leg. The clouds let out a steady stream to dampen the woods and Gwaeron watched it fall, thinking of Orophin on the borders in such weather. “Orophin, come back soon. I feel farther from you than ever.” She spoke softly, half to herself, half hoping for an answer. When the rain didn’t calm her as it normally would, she turned to go back inside but stopped when she heard her name being called.

Smiling tiredly at her friend, she ushered the hooded elleth inside out of the rain and took her cloak to dry. “Come and have some breakfast with me, Ana.” Trying to sound more pleasant than she felt, Gwaeron soon dropped the pretense as she turned to Anauriel and found her already distressed. “What is it?”

Obviously worried, the elf touched Gwaeron’s arm and asked. “He has not come to you? Do you not know?” Seeing Gwaeron’s confusion Anauriel now panicked, assuming Orophin had not kept his word, that danger would follow him before ever he met the enemy.

“Who? Ana, who do you mean? What do I not know?” The elleth’s worry now rubbed off onto her friend and a knot tied itself in Gwaeron’s belly.

“I mean Orophin, and that you do not know the galadhrim have already left.” All color left the woman’s face and Ana quickly took her hands in her own to steady her as she spoke. “Yesterday Orophin came to the talan and he was… he was himself again! He wanted to see you, he told me—“

“Where? Where is he?” Gently, Anauriel brought them to sit at the table and tried to hold in her own tears as she explained that Rúmil and Orophin were among the galadhrim traveling to Rohan and war. Trembling in fear, Gwaeron stifled a sob to keep from waking Véredhiel. Had his voice been as near as she felt it was in her dreaming? She prayed fervently that Orophin had at least come in the night, had seen the child and had spoken his endearment with the same love she heard still in her mind. _Faril nin_.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is really long and really awesome, y'all. It's my favorite.

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 8/13

 **Chapter Summary:** _In one of the rare breaths between attackers Orophin felt his arm grabbed from behind and instantly whirled to strike before elvish metal met his own with an offensive clang. Rúmil stared at him with a frightened expression, finding raw hatred shining in his brother’s eyes._

 **Author’s Note:** I don’t know quite what season it is when the Fellowship are in Lorien, and so there are a few changes in time-flow versus how things played out in the movies. Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. But little things like these I have the license to play with, as the author. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

The warm winds of an oncoming storm mattered little in the face of so many disciplined, swiftly marching galadhrim. Their travels held without cease, silent but for a subtle chink of mail and armor that before long was drowned out by rumbling thunder, and so made progress through the night at an urgent pace. Orophin ran at the head with his Marchwarden and brother, speaking no words and singing no songs, praying their small army’s speed would surpass that of Isengard’s forces. Rohan came upon them and Orophin was interrupted in his thoughts and prayers by the familiar elvish horn, signaling their arrival to Helm’s Deep. What by a man’s eyes would be a field of wavering stars, the elf spared a glance opposite from the fortress to see thousands of _yrch_ torches steadily moving closer. Another hour would see the horror’s arrival at the walls.

The Deeping Wall opened for the allies and took them inside, rohirric faces aghast and in awe of their force shining in such contrast to those of their harried men. Orophin spared a reassuring nod for one teenager with a smattering of beard that looked little more than dirt. Rohan needed aid more than he had imagined. Standing in formation with his elves, he soon found Legolas and Aragorn come from among the men to meet them, embracing both he and Haldir in their gratitude and surprise. In haste they delegated the galadhrim to spread among the rohirrim, bolstering their defense and organizing lines of archers.

There was little enough time for camaraderie, though Aragorn took his arm and gave a meaningful look before asking. “How is Gwaeron, my friend? Is she changed at all?”

Orophin clasped his arm in turn and smiled. “Your sister has spoken with my Lady and is well. I could not speak with her before coming here to your aid…”

Though gravity filled his countenance, Aragorn managed a smile and clasped a hand to his friend’s neck. “It is my prayer, then, that we may both live to see her now returned to spirits. Valar protect you, my brother.” With a nod, he watched the ranger move up the barricades to the archers’ row.

Turning to his own archers formed in the floor of the Deep, Orophin gave them instruction and stood at their head with his own bow drawn, ready for the first volley to be delivered. Looking to the side, he could just see Rúmil on a side battlement with the few galadhrim up high, forward above him stood Haldir with the line of main soldiers. Thunder above seemed to tell them ‘ _stand ready_ ,’ and they did.

Roaring battle cries and rhythmic stomping filled the air and Orophin saw several young men—no, _boys_ —begin to shift and shake where they stood, glancing about them in fear and gripping weapons too large for their untried hands. Watching one lad wipe away his tears made the warden’s jaw clench in resolution. There was nothing he could do to keep these children from the fight, but he would do his best to protect them. Strong hearts certainly grew within these lads, but they weren’t near the age enough to be thrust so early into battle and death. Intimidating howls and the clapping of crude armor seemed brought to crescendo when the heavy sky finally let loose its load, pouring over an army already drenched in fear.

Above, Aragorn gave the signal to ready aims and Orophin echoed the command, knocking his own arrow to kiss the fletching. In the contrasting quiet and clamor a single arrow was suddenly let fly without consent, hitting its mark and resulting in the enemy’s pregnant pause. “ _Dartho_! Hold!” Their ranger-captain ordered the men to steady just as their opposition roused in anger and charge. Now it began. “ _Tangado a chadad_! Prepare to fire!” The galadhrim obeyed immediately, aiming high above the fortress wall to volley. “ _Hado i philinn!_ Release arrows!” Orophin’s company answered the call to hurl to flow and released taut strings in a deadly cloud of darts.

These volleys seemed a blur before too soon Orophin could see crude ladders beginning to draw up the wall, berserk uruk-hai at their heads. He was able to shoot several down from his position below until there were simply too many coming over the barricade and filtering through their defenses. Calling for swords and drawing his own, Orophin charged the first of the _yrch_ that landed on the floor of the keep, killing the creature as mercilessly as it had killed his companions coming from the wall. More came, seeming to double in number after every kill. Their blood made his lips bitter as it spattered with each vital cut, clinging like sap no matter how the rain sought to wash away its taste.

Several blades ventured too close for his liking, clashing against his breastplate and arms in angry grinding and scraping. Adrenaline pulsed through the elf in a dangerous thrill as battle swarmed about him and the fighting intensified in desperation. After some time, however, that energetic thrum in his body became frighteningly still for the length of a breath, making Orophin search feverishly about him to find the source of this foreboding dread. It was but a moment before what felt amiss became horribly clear.

An explosion larger than he had ever seen erupted with a spine-rattling crack in the fortress wall not far from him. Rock and warrior flew high with the blow, not sparing even the enemy as their bodies impacted others from the force of it. Orophin was thrown far and hard into gravel as shrapnel from broken stone and steel shot into him, imbedding viciously between gaps in his armor and the exposed flesh of face and hands though he shielded himself as best he could. When the initial fog of pain managed to clear from his eyes, the warden looked up to find an enormous gap in the wall, drainage rushing out and bringing fighting uruk-hai in with its tide.

A light head and roaring in ears far too sensitive made him stagger as he stood, looking around to find any of his galadhrim and finding instead the prone figure of an unconscious Aragorn some yards away. In haste, Orophin rushed to him and gathered the ranger to haul away from the oncoming threat, rousing him in the process. Leaving him an order to muster his elves, the man gathered his wits suitably and rushed to his dwarven comrade, managing to rally enough to form a line of defense against the mass of _yrch_. After a volley of fire that merely slowed the enemy for a moment, Orophin followed Aragorn with the galadhrim and met the uruk’s attack with swords ready. Crooked lances claimed many lives as they collided with Saruman’s forces and wretched battle cries could be heard from both sides, distinguished only by the tones of man and beast.

Slicing through the affront of iron blades, Orophin cut down the first creature to challenge him and felt his body become gratefully numb to his wounds as he felled another and more in the monster’s wake. Arrows from the rohirrim and his brother’s force in the upper parapet darted on either side of him, aiding to strike his opponents down that ventured too close to an unprotected side. Orophin fought with determination and focused on the attack, working and weaving skillfully through the arrow-felled uruk-hai until one such shaft grazed his neck, catching him off guard. Distracted by the errant arrow, doubtless shot by a son of men, the warrior turned too late to deflect a stabbing knife that thirled deep into a shoulder already pierced with shrapnel. Growling, Orophin soon took care of the uruk who had dealt it to him and cried out as the serrated blade was ripped carelessly from him with its demise.

“ _Nan barad!_ To the Keep!” The call to retreat was shouted amidst the sounds of battle and called the warden to take responsibility for his galadhrim’s safety. The elves rushed past him into the fortress obediently, some carrying wounded between them and others alerting those who had not heard above the ruckus. While he covered their retreat Orophin heard Aragorn’s voice and his brother’s name, casting his glance everywhere in search of both the speaker and hearer. The Marchwarden’s figure could be seen still on the upper barricade among the carnage, fighting admirably and ordering his galadhrim to answer the retreat while he still battled the enemy.

As he made a bloody path to reach him, Orophin could do nothing but watch in horror as a rough blade caught his brother in the side, shoving in and out before the Marchwarden could dispatch the uruk. The younger warden fled up the stone stairs three and four at a time to get to him, casting aside all attackers without thought to any further blows he received. Too late, Orophin reached the top where Haldir now sank to his knees, eyes numbed with excruciating pain while a _yrch_ stood poised to end it all. Crying out in rage, Orophin lunged forward and slaughtered the beast, pivoting swiftly to catch and hold his brother’s body against his armor. “Haldir! _Haldir_ no…” The elf caught Aragorn reaching them in the corner of his eye and so gave no thought to oncoming attackers as his brother choked to speak.

Tears leaked without acknowledgment from his eyes as Orophin held his captain firmly and Haldir looked up with regret, knowing this to be his end. “There is an honor in dying for those you love, my brother. It is not a waste, though I told you so.” Clenching in agony, he paused with eyes shut tight, managing only a few more words. “Will you… take my blessing… for your wife and child?” Quickly Orophin nodded, letting out a gasping sob when Haldir grasped his hand for the last time and released his life, going limp on his arm.

Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder beckoned him as the ranger spoke urgently. “Come, Orophin. We cannot linger in this place.” Nodding, but with no real sensation beside grief or anger, the warden rose and followed his friend away from the body of his kin. Those enemies in his path were killed in blind rage and soon the adrenaline of battle filled him so that all remained was the instinctive dance of fist, sword and knife. The calls of warning on the battlements were no longer heard, alerting them of great iron ladders that rose in the wake of deadly grappling hooks. Arrows flew to pick off the assailants rising up, but could not contend with the sheer number of uruk-hai.

In one of the rare breaths between attackers Orophin felt his arm grabbed from behind and instantly whirled to strike before elvish metal met his own with an offensive clang. Rúmil stared at him with a frightened expression, finding raw hatred shining in his brother’s eyes. “Orophin, you have not heard the call for retreat? The fortress is taken, we must fall back!” When the words finally registered and he knew the fight was lost, Orophin’s limbs almost gave way. A wrong-sided kick had left his knee out of joint and weakened, giving the younger need to put his arm about his waist and help the elder son flee back to the final gate of the keep.

A large hall was where the remaining rohirrim now gathered and a glance about the room left Orophin sickened to find no elves within. The painful image of their fallen brother was brought to mind and the young warden watched him carefully.

Rúmil saw the grief in his brother’s eyes and guessed it partially, though his heart had no desire to know. “Where is Haldir? I could find him nor any other galadhrim on my way to you.”

Orophin could not bring himself to meet his gaze as he spoke, shaking his head with a clenched jaw. “Haldir is gone from us, brother. He… he died in my arms.” Taking the helm off of Rúmil, he grasped the elf’s neck and pulled his head against his shoulder, holding him close to give what comfort he might have spared for himself. Rúmil held onto his brother and tried to breathe deeply, mouthing a silent prayer for the first-born son of their parents.

Seeking to right himself, the young warden moved to assess the damages his brother had taken and did what he could without removing his panoply entirely. Orophin gasped and panted as Rúmil took it upon himself to remove some larger pieces of shrapnel, casting aside the jagged metals to sound off the floor. To distract himself, Orophin set his eyes on the doorway where some few men were hurriedly ushered in before finally closing the gate. “This is it, then.” He murmured to himself, watching men put whatever they could to brace the doors as uruk-hai brought a battering ram to the outside and shook the very stone. The reverberations did nothing to help his dizzy head as he jerked it to shake off dripping sweat, rain, and blood.

Both elves turned their attention to where Aragorn approached the king, urgently pressing him as to any routes of escape for the innocents apparently hiding in caverns. “Is there no other way?” The ranger’s normally reverent voice was made strong and imperative to compensate for the numbed leadership Theoden displayed. After the agonizing distraction of Rúmil pulling one last shard from the warden’s side, Orophin pressed his cloak against the wounds and gathered from the talk of men that the women and children would have a means of flight to safety and the remaining soldiers would ride out to a last stand.

Horses were sent for from within the keep and Orophin laid hold of his brother’s shoulder to raise himself to stand, groaning through teeth grit with the effort. Such movement cost him dearly with shots of pain through his right, corrupted leg especially. Rúmil made to dissuade him, but could do no more than curse his immovable brother once he made up his mind. “I can still wield a blade well enough to defend _you_ , brother. I could not allow you such a death unless I fell first or followed soon after… not now.” The resolution shone in his eyes with a gravity Rúmil had never seen before. Death was not commonplace among his kindred.

When mounts were brought for the two galadhrim they each made quick work of removing the sturdy, mannish saddles, leaving only bridle and reins to ride with. Rúmil climbed up easily and watched his brother gently guide his mare to take a knee, hurting less to mount in such a manner than to jump with or swing limbs now damaged. Theoden king seemed to soak in the epic of the moment and rally his full courage, speaking to his men in prose that stirred the blood and raised the battle cry of his rohirrim. “Forth _Eórlingas_!” The king’s command sent the riders heaving through the gate, bursting in a deadly gallop that bowled through the uruk-hai that foolishly made to charge the fearless war-horses. Those who weren’t trampled beneath strong hooves were ruthlessly taken down by spear, shield, and sword.

The night began to break away and a pink glow manifested from the eastern ridge while still they fought as those dealing the last blows before honorable death. One man’s gaze was drawn to that eastern point of light and exclaimed to see a great white rider, a helmed rohirrim at his side. Eyes not only of men, but those also of _yrch_ now rose to see this new ally and enemy, hope and dread surging through their veins as an entire éored suddenly appeared and began the steep charge down the mountainside and into enemy ranks. The sun dawned fully at their backs and into the eyes of foul creatures, defeating them before the first strikes were dealt. Those surviving of Saruman’s army fled and ran off into the newly arrived forest of _huorns_ , unknowing of the trees’ deadly intentions toward hackers and woodcutters of kin.

As victory was claimed Orophin sagged with the draining of battle-rage and the rest of his energy, feeling some of his blood leak to stain his horse’s hide and mingle with those streaks of his enemy’s. Guiding the animal back up the causeway at a walk, he allowed himself to be truly conscious of his body for the first time in hours. His situation was not good. Ignoring things until now had not been wise, but he felt there was no real choice. A throbbing, nauseating weight seemed to have settled throughout him, intensified where he remembered a jagged knife piercing his shoulder. Orophin touched the spot gingerly and felt it to be swollen. There was no doubt as to it being poisoned.

Coming into the Deep, he could hardly bring himself to look across the heaps of corpses, certain as he was that the bodies of his galadhrim were scattered throughout. In frustration and heartache his sword flew out and hacked down an orcish banner bearing the white hand, causing it to fall as the enemy had fallen. Rúmil could be heard trotting up beside him, but Orophin did not look at him, speaking gravely. “Look for survivors, Rúmil.” The words were as graveled as the floor of the keep. Parting ways in their search, Orophin slid stiffly off his mare and breathed his thanks in elvish for bearing him safely, walking slowly through carcass and carnage with the animal trailing behind loyally. There was no movement, no sign of struggling life, and all was still. Names of his comrades formed a list in his mind, each one checking off as he found their faces among the rubble and murmured a mournful prayer for Mandos to keep them in his Halls.

Orophin came upon a crushed figure that resembled the lad he had acknowledged upon entering the fortress, his beginnings of a beard now hidden in blood. Tenderly, he removed the boy from the bloodshed that encroached him and held the boy close in arms, wincing in pain but not loosing his hold. The sounds of women and children filtered through the stone of the stronghold, innocents being released from the safety of the caves, and Orophin began to walk toward the noise. Wives and mothers clung to each other and their little children, mixtures of joy at victory and shock at such extent of death on their pale faces.

A young girl, perhaps five or six summers old, left her mother’s side and trotted over to Orophin, her eyes torn between the foreign elf and the forever-sleeping lad in his grasp. With difficulty, he knelt to come to her level, enabling him to clearly see the tears in her eyes that had likely plagued her all night. Her hand reached out and carefully touched her brother’s cheek, staining her fingers black and red. Meeting Orophin’s eyes, he could almost see her veil of innocence becoming threadbare. “Is he a’sleeping?”

Her voice had broken with the lilting tongue of her mother and father and Orophin struggled to keep his own from breaking as well, answering her. “No little one, I’m afraid he will not wake up.” He spoke softly and his gentleness caused a flower petal lip to quiver as her heart broke. Tears sought to clean the gore from Orophin’s face and he raised his fingers to caress the child’s dusty-gold hair and rosined cheek. “There is no shame in crying. I understand you, dear one, for my brother has also been taken from me.”

Brown eyes met his in empathy and she took his hand to hold in both of hers, for his comfort as well as her own. “Frerand told me ‘be strong.’” The look she gave the body told him her brother’s name.

“Frerand was right, we must be strong.” He agreed, glancing up to find the children’s mother now approaching, her face crumpled in sorrow. Rising again, Orophin handed the lad to her, who she took with strong arms and reverence, and bowed in respect. “I grieve with you.”

The woman nodded, thanking him quietly before burying her face in the neck of her son, shoulders shaking. Her daughter hugged the leg of her dress, glancing to the broken elven warrior before consoling her mother. “It is’all right to cry, Mama.”

Smiling sorely, Orophin took a step back from them and touched his fingers to his brow in honor, blessing the family in their loss and the child in her growth. A passing look about him revealed that this was not the only scene of its kind being played out. Rúmil approached from the other part of the keep and wordlessly looped his arm about his shoulders, helping him walk and make their way to the gates. “Did you…” Orophin could not bring himself to finish the question, but his brother understood.

“No, there are none.” They neither one looked into their faces, for one would find too great a grief and the other too dire a pain. “I have spoken with Éomer of Rohan and with Aragorn, they will properly tend to our dead. There are too many to bring back with us, and you are too weak to help me care for their burial here.”

Orophin nodded somberly. Aragorn understood the way of the elves as well as his own, it would be done with honor. “What of Haldir?”

The third son did not answer immediately, as if to calm his emotion before trusting his voice. “Haldir would wish to be with his galadhrim, Orophin, you know that well enough.”

Numbly, he agreed, and Orophin was in such a haze of mourning and pain that he almost missed his brother leading him to the healing ward until the smell of fresh blood assailed him. Now awakened from his stupor, Orophin shook his head vehemently and pulled away from Rúmil. “ _No_ , I will go to Lórien to heal. We must leave immediately.”

Not always subject to his brother’s will, Rúmil took hold of his arm and persisted. “You are in no condition to return, Orophin, not when you can barely _walk_ and your wounds gaping open!”

“It matters not! I am well enough to ride, and we ride to Lórien _now_.” Orophin limped determinedly back to the gate where their horses stood obediently together, tensing his body against the tortures he felt at every step. He knew not how long the poisons could be staved off and every moment away from Gwaeron heightened the fear of dying without her. He should have awakened her, he should have held his beloved in arms and promised his love, kissed her, held his daughter once more. As he reached his horse, Orophin clutched the mane for a moment, choked with terror stronger than that sustained in the fight at the thought of being separated from his huntress forever.

Mounting the horse resolutely, the elf pulled her quickly around and urged her away, back to his home at the fastest pace as if pursued by a ring-wraith. In moments Rúmil could be heard riding behind him and they flew over Rohan’s plains, fully armored galadhrim no inhibition for two steeds in their motherland. They rode for hours until the sun began to decline on the other horizon and horse and rider needed rest that had been thus far denied. Trying desperately to calm his breathing, Orophin pulled his mare over to a stream they stopped at and sought to hide his ragged condition. He could not hide long, he knew, Rúmil was no dotard. Dismounting so that his back was to his brother, he concealed the pain in his expression and prayed that he would last long enough to reach the Golden Wood.

Hoping to buy enough time to lie down and get a small rest, the eldest asked Rúmil to ready a fire, exerting what authority he could voice firmly. Once he had gone Orophin all but collapsed to the hard earth, allowing some of the violent trembling that had begun around midday to rattle his bones. Sick to his stomach and freezing besides, the elf turned on his better side and wrapped his cloak about him.

Hearing nothing from his brother after having the fire established, Rúmil stood and neared the prone form hidden in cloak. “Orophin?” The shivering could no longer be obscured and he quickly knelt at his side, turning him onto his back and uncovering an unconscious face filled with fever. “Blast it all, you are _not_ well.” Cursing to himself, Rúmil set his hands to work and felt of clammy skin, blazing hot, and raised eyelids to see the start of yellowing around the iris. Infection alone did not produce such rapid deterioration as this. Stripping plates of armor from his shoulders, Rúmil filled them with water and set on the fire to boil, immediately at task to remove his brother’s gear and fully reveal wounds that should have received care long ago. Slaps to the face were barely registered and the younger brought a few handfuls of chilly water to splash Orophin awake, finally rousing him from fitful slumber.

“We cannot go back to Rohan, Rúmil… Do not take me back.” Mumbling in his regained consciousness, Orophin knew at once his illness had been found out and made his protestations.

“We are still _in_ Rohan, brother. That’s the least of your concerns at present.” Rúmil answered and ripped open a sweat and blood-soaked jerkin, grimacing to find among countless contusions and other gashes a particular stabbing that swelled and oozed what appeared to be blood, though it was too thick to be hale. “Why did you not _tell_ _me_ , Orophin? This could have been prevented!”

Breathing in ragged successions, the invalid shook his head. “I thought I could… hold on until we entered Lórien. I did not realize how, how bad it had come to be.”

Rúmil tore apart some of their clothing to make bandages. “ _Liar_. You knew it to be poisoned and did _nothing_.”

Orophin coughed and tensed in the searing pain that accompanied it, feeling his lungs constrict. “Forgive me, my brother.”

Glancing up with reproving eyes Rúmil soaked the rags in the boiled water and began cleaning the ghastly wounds; incredulous that Orophin had pushed himself through such suffering. An unexpected droplet landed on him and the younger hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, unused to these emotions and not in any way desirous of becoming so. A mask of anger covered his sadness and he spoke with a semblance heat in his tone. “I have no care to be the only brother left alive. _You_ are the responsible one, not I.”

A wet cough answered him that was perhaps meant to be a laugh, causing the younger to grimace while Orophin managed a slight smile. “I’d say you’re certainly the responsible one at present.” The rattling cough took him again, causing a seize in pain before he turned to the side and spat out syrupy blood, returning to his back with a gasping breath. Some clear water was brought up to his lips and he drank only to rinse the acrid discharge from his throat, daring not to swallow anything. His brother was diligent in his care for every injury, tending first the most grievous that evidently held the poison and was therefore made sensitive to any touch at all, redoubling their distress.

Hours passed without much improvement, and bandaging what could be bandaged meant little when so significant an amount of shrapnel still remained deep in the flesh. Rúmil carried no herbs or healing salves to ward off further infection, no bandages aside from the clothing he had already torn asunder, and no instruments to help him remove debris from the explosion or even to sew any cuts closed. The two halves of a broken arrow shaft had been placed between Orophin’s teeth to keep from biting his tongue as his tremors nearly turned to seizures when the pain was at its worst. Occasionally his shouts of torment would even disquiet the horses, though they remained steadfast at the edge of the firelight.

At length, and by the Valar’s blessing, Orophin lost consciousness and lay slack against the tree his brother had situated him against. His mind would grant no peace, even in oblivion, and the warden dreamed of scarlet and fetid black blood. _Layers of it clung to him, suffocating in its closeness, and he fought against shadows and his own fears with futile movements. His ears were ringing with the lingering deafness of the explosion; the blast that riddled his body with flying stone and metal fogged any other sound. A high voice, a woman’s voice, pierced through the haze and Orophin spun to find its source, desperate for something real and tangible when the onslaught of vagueness and indefinite din constricted him. “Gwaeron?_ Gwaeron _! Gwaeron help me!” The thought of her, alone, gave him strength and he pushed his way through grasping monsters to reach her._

 _The voice was there again, and he recognized his name. “Orophin! Come to me! Orophin, I am alone,_ please _, come!” Orophin faltered and struggled but could not force his body further, collapsing into the muck of battle that drew him in. “_ Orophin _!” Her scream was panicked and he wept in desperation. There was no more strength in him, he could not bring his arms to fight, and his legs were too heavy to lift. A baby began to cry and Orophin’s heart clenched in terror. Véredhiel. Gwaeron. He had to get to them, he could not fail, he must reach them in time, he could not die…_

Working quickly as the eldest slept, and with an eye on the brightening horizon, Rúmil bound Orophin’s wounds tightly and straightened the knee that had come out of joint. The ride would likely throw it out of place again, but there was nothing to be done until they reached Caras Galadhon. “Orophin… hear me, brother. Wake up, we must go at once.” Removing the chewed wooden shafts from his mouth, Rúmil took his brother’s bruised face and stroked pale and mottled purple skin. “Orophin, _come_ now. Your loved ones await you, we cannot linger.”

With a warm rag over his brow, Orophin opened ailing eyes to the pre-dawn light and gasped with how severely wakefulness hurt. “ _Gwaeron_ , I must return to Gwaeron…” His words were a mixture of moaning, ragged breath, fraught and weak.

“I’m doing my best to return you to her, alive, Orophin. We must ride now, I’m putting you on the horse with me.” Whistling the animal to come to him, Rúmil guided his brother upright and hefted him to his feet. “You must bear the pain, brother. Find your strength.” Orophin answered with a brusque nod, panting quickly with exertion before letting out a sob as they mounted him astride the horse and Rúmil swung up behind. The ride was dreadful on every account and kept the invalid in a constant state of pain-shocked tears. A rest every couple of hours was granted, though they were urgently short and gave little relief.

The sob that left Orophin’s mouth at the sight of Lothlorien broke his brother’s heart. “Take me to her, please, bring me to Gwaeron…” He begged while the few wardens met them at the border, receiving admittance and a fresh horse to reach Caras Galadhon. “ _Rúmil_ , I must…”

“You must _live_ , Orophin. We go to the Lady and pray that _she_ can save you, for that is beyond Gwaeron’s power, now.” Rúmil’s answer was harsh in his distress, worried more now that Orophin’s reasoning seemed lost in the haze of pain. The younger elf spurred his new steed with all haste to the city, flying through his wooded home before paths made themselves apparent and he shouted ahead to clear the way. An exhausted breath and prayer of thanks were spared for Elbereth when he saw his Lord and Lady waiting for him with a stretcher-bed and healers to carry the warden.

Celeborn helped Rúmil to carry Orophin down from the horse and soon his bleeding galadhrim was carried away up the stairs of the mallorn by elves waiting with their Lady. His hand came to rest on the younger warden’s shoulder and Rúmil turned to bow his head with grieved deference. Before he could try and speak, to explain how only he and Orophin had come home from the battle, the lord of Lorien spoke for him. “My lady-wife has told me of our casualties, and of your brother. Haldir was a valued Marchwarden, and I grieve with you until we are reunited in Valinor.” Rúmil could not trust his voice enough to answer, and so kept his head lowered.  “Galadriel has said that she will tend to Orophin herself, you can be sure that everything will be done to heal his hurts.”

Shaking his head the young elf finally looked up to stare at the great mallorn tree, where Orophin had been taken, where the last of his family might yet be stolen from him. A harrowed worry filled Rúmil’s gaze as he spoke, visible though he could not meet the silver lord’s eye. “There is a poison, deep, and festered in one of the wounds. And I, I tried to clean it, but every moment he sinks still further into the sickness and pain…“ He didn’t realize his fists had begun to shake with the same wavering in his voice until Celeborn grasped his arm firmly and steadied him.

“Rúmil, there is a shock that clings to one who has experienced what you have in these last hours. Your brother is in capable hands and you have done well to deliver him in the best care and speed you could provide.” There was a resigned look on the lord’s face as he sighed. “You may stay here, of course, until my wife has finished her work. But I would urge you to find a little rest. There are those who, I’m sure, want very much to know you’re safe.” The grasp on his arm tightened half a moment and the next moment left Rúmil alone at the bottom of the tree’s great staircase. The suggestion was made and the young elf took it, turning away to follow the path home.

 

Véredhiel refused to sleep this night and the reason for it was not lost on her mother who sat on edge waiting for news. When the child cried harder, inconsolable, Gwaeron distressed to know if Orophin was harmed or worse on the battlefield far off. She sat leaning on the front porch with the baby close in arms, now quieted once midnight had passed, and only whining every now and again. A week. A week of running with Tar and fighting in the sparring field to keep her thoughts away from the endless dangers Orophin was facing among men and Saruman’s forces. Her desperate prayer every night was simply to bring him home to her alive.

Gwaeron’s burning eyes had just shut in some form of rest when the thumping of Tar’s wagging tail against her thigh roused her once again. The hound’s perked ears were directed ahead and when the woman followed his gaze she, too, found what had alerted him. Standing slowly to keep from disturbing Véredhiel, Gwaeron quietly went down the stairs of the flet and met the oncoming figure who approached with laden steps. Her heart faltered a moment, believing it to be her beloved, but was soon let down at the difference in gait and height. When the elf looked up from his boots she recognized Rúmil in an instant, feeling a tenuous relief in her bones, but questions in her heart. Where was his brother?

Without putting these questions to voice, Gwaeron went to him and embraced the brother of her heart, receiving his grasping arms that were careful of the babe on her shoulder. Their embrace was strong and weighed with cares neither wanted to speak or hear, but that needed answering. A kiss on her cheek did little to ease the concerned lines from her fair face and Rúmil guessed her thoughts as soon as he pulled back to look at her plainly. “He yet lives.” Tears that had threatened to fall and burnt her eyes were now released with joy. The way in which Rúmil spoke her name, however, put her back to rights like the harsh sting of a wasp. “He is in Galadriel’s care… I think it would be wise for you to go to him.”

“What is it? He is wounded?” The questions left her mouth as a breath is stolen by being dealt a solid blow. Rúmil’s hand on her shoulder now carried the weight of her dread and it made the woman’s legs tremble.

“Gwaeron, he is in great pain from battle and a poison has colored his blood. I think little other than his will to see you has kept him alive so long, for he was ill even as we left the fortress.”

“I will go. You must rest, Rúmil. I will take care of your brother, now go to your own bed.” Patting the hand that laid heavily on her, Gwaeron ushered him a little ways in the right direction and then backed away and moved toward the mallorn of the Lady with urgency in her steps. Anxiety hastened her stride until the jostling was too much for a weary elfling to sleep through, and Véredhiel began her pitiful wailing afresh. The distraught mother could do little to keep her own cries at bay, and soon the ranger’s shoulders shook as she wept with a throbbing heart. What pains had he endured? What agonies did he still suffer through? Without helping it, she became selfish and Gwaeron cried simply for missing him. She would not count the days they had been apart by her doing, but her heart knew how deep a scar his absence had made within her. The scent that had both troubled and soothed her in his talan now began to fade, and the tunics she often bundled their daughter with for good rest smelled only of baby’s breath.

The child’s upset became greater the closer they came to the tree, fussing, and squirming so that high on Gwaeron’s shoulder she clenched and released her mother’s hair, stuttering breath and squeezing out tears. Galadriel’s tree-castle came upon them at last and the ranger’s legs seemed to need guidance each in turn to force ever step upward, the smoothed grains of wood turning to ribbons of heated metal under her bare feet. This progress was halted suddenly when Gwaeron tensed at a man’s cry of pain, a sound she had never heard from Orophin, but that could not be mistaken. Véredhiel’s noise had ceased all at once, and reduced only to that familiar newborn’s whine, weak and heartbreaking against the woman’s neck.

At length Gwaeron moved to a doorway where the screams clearly lay beyond, just out of her reach. The Lady was at work to heal him, and it was no strange news to the lady ranger that often healing caused great pain before rest can be taken. Her legs now shook uncertainly and Gwaeron backed to the intricate railing opposite the door, crumpling to the floor slowly and staring ahead as though she could see her beloved through the aged wood. Prayers to every Vala left her lips in reverent silence, asking for mercy and protection.  “Illúvatar, do not let this child lose another father before she can even come to know him.” The baby cradled in her arms served almost to anchor her as emotions threatened to drown her aggrieved heart.

 

Orophin writhed in anguish on the bed his friends had him laid out upon, struggling against the four elves, including their Lord, in all their strength to help him lie still. Their efforts served the steady hands of lady Galadriel as she operated on his numerous shrapnel wounds, her long fingers buried deep in his flesh to remove even the most significant piece of rubble that could lay claim to the warrior’s life. His strength was greater than what they anticipated in such a state. Orophin’s mind fought in vain the battle over his body’s desire to resist such torturous treatment. The misery of nausea strangled him, still, and by his continuous retching on the journey from Rohan, there was now nothing left to give.

With the ugliest carnage well tended, Orophin’s body grew slack and thick gasps evened to shallower, weaker breaths. “Orophin, do not fade into sleep. The time is not now to relent, for this poison still works hard to send your fëa to Mandos. Do not let it.” His Lady’s voice was strong and commanding, and he knew her words were true; he was not out of danger from dark poison yet. His head was light with excessive blood-loss and every heave of breath in brief respites could not grant him enough air. Orophin’s struggles were weak now as his muscles trembled incessantly and strained to free his limbs from well-meaning elves leaning heavily on him. Nausea returned, causing him to convulse in dry heaves, and cold settled deeper into a sore body with every moment draining him of more blood. “ _Orophin, do not fade.”_

 

With a heart that hurt in empathy from every tormented sound behind the doors, Gwaeron waited hours outside her beloved’s healing rooms, fearing the worst when after all that came the dreadful silence. Not even the talk between elves was heard and her hands shook with fear of the unthinkable.

Lord Celeborn emerged from the doorway with a great sigh and jolted the young woman who waited in keen distress, curled on the floor with a sleeping babe in arms. Gradually she stood, expecting the worst as she met the gaze of a somber Lord of the Wood. His look upon her was sympathetic. “Have you been here this whole while, young one?” A nod was all she could manage without collapsing into a nervous wreck. Sensing her distress on every level, the great elf came near and reached to take on of her hands gently. “Orophin has endured more than I believed an elf capable of.  I do not think he would have had the strength for it had it not been for you, Gwaeron.”

At his side soon came the Lady of light and her visage held the first subtle sign of wear that Gwaeron had ever seen, evident more in the way her hand held onto her husband’s arm than truly showing exhaustion. “Your face was ever present in his thoughts and your name upon his lips as I worked to expel the poison. I think it would be good for you and the child to be near him now.” Though she made no move, Gwaeron felt the caress of the Lady’s hand on her cheek and tender push that moved her to the chamber the other elves now departed.

Her first steps inside were humbled by the sight of soiled and blood-soaked linens gathered in baskets, a few basins were filled with stain pink and red in the water still steaming. All of this and he yet lived? She could not comprehend and did not wish to. Gwaeron finally laid eyes on him and felt her body quiver, overwhelmed. He lay with head limp to one side, uncovered but for loose breeches to cool a body still wracked by fever and bound in bandages taut and secure, though some carried the tint of blood seeping through the worst. A battered chest rose and fell sporadically, hitching on every other inhale to draw enough breath through the pain.

A chair had been situated close to his side and Gwaeron took it, holding Véredhiel still sleeping off her exhaustion in her lap. “Orophin?” Her voice was a whisper, as hesitant as the fingers that reached out to touch his bruised hand with care, wrapping around knuckles familiarly larger than her own.

He did not stir for a moment until his fingers closed around hers weakly, drawing her hand slowly to rest upon his heart. With effort his head turned toward her and at last those adoring eyes opened to meet those of his lady ranger. Orophin smiled. “Faril nin.” His deep, accented voice was raw, but it called her by his favored name and those precious words allowed Gwaeron to weep openly, smiling all the while.

Overwhelmed, the woman remembered all of their trials of confusion, separation, the waiting she put them through, starving through depression and guilt, anxiously waiting for his return from battle, and now seeing him only just alive, but _alive_ and looking at her in that way he always had… the heart within her seemed reborn and through pain made new. “I _love_ you, Orophin… Forgive me, and all I’ve done—“ Sobbing, Gwaeron bowed her head and pressed her lips to his arm.

Gently, he soothed her and stroked the perfect hand he held. “I know, my Gwaeron. Shh, I am all right. All is forgiven; do not hold onto your guilt any longer. I’m alive and you are with me, how could I be unhappy?” His assurances finally drew her eyes up to shine a brighter green amidst tears and the elf marveled at how he desperately had missed those eyes. The curls so natural to her fell wildly about a blushing and freckled face, and even with signs of sorrow that had plagued her expression till now, he knew this mortal was more beautiful to him than Galadriel and every elven maid on Arda could hope to be.

In that endearing trait he loved, his lady ranger laughed helplessly in the midst of her tears and smiled at him in a way no fire could match in warmth. “I have missed you, so.”

“Gwaeron there is something I have meant to ask you. I had hoped it would be your wish as well as my own, and for such have I waited, but no longer…” With effort, he took her hand up to his face and she guided it to hold him reverently, waiting and feeling his breath on her fingers while she held her own. “Daughter of Arathorn and Gilraen, daughter of chieftains and kings, _faril nin_ … will you be the wife of this hard-beaten warrior?”

Her voice could not answer but with a face blooming and nod, Gwaeron took Véredhiel close against her and leaned over the elf to kiss him with all her heart. With tears mingled, they parted and Orophin looked down upon his daughter to find a sleeping baby’s smile.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 9/13

 **Chapter Summary:** _“Rúmil desires that I absolve myself of guilt for our losses in Rohan… but I cannot. A warden’s duty is to protect his captain—“_

 _“And what of a_ captain’s _duty to protect his wardens, Orophin?”_

 **Author’s Note:** Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

 

 

Orophin’s rest was easy once his daughter lay under a protective arm and his beloved rested her own head close beside him. They lay thus until half the next day had passed by in peace and Gwaeron awoke to the baby’s soft jabbering, finding her playing with little fingers and smaller lips. With a smile, she loosed her lover’s hold of the child and scooped her up easily, casting her eyes on the elf below once more. No frown tainted his brow but nor did he look to be completely without pain in slumber, giving cause again for the ranger to murmur a prayer for healing. Gwaeron bowed over him and hovered so that their cheeks brushed lightly as she breathed her words and kissed his jaw. “Sleep, Orophin, I will return soon.” The lady ranger made no din leaving the room and was soon away to fetch what their elfling needed, leaving only the sound of a baby’s laugh in a quiet hall.

Though his heart would surely have obeyed, Orophin’s body roused some little time after the woman’s departure, leaving him awake and hurting sorely. That hurt was soon surpassed when his body tensed and the pain of finding himself alone seared through him like a terror. Lifting his head brought agony and a fruitless search of the room for his betrothed and daughter. Had he imagined them coming to him? Was Gwaeron not his intended? Did she know he yet lived, and for her, alone? This line of thinking seemed to pull all blood from his limbs to bear down on his worst wound, where knife had struck shoulder and poison had festered.

Falling back to the mattress, Orophin flexed and clenched his hands in the bedding, releasing when pricks of numbness struck his muscles like needles. He tried to breathe and calm himself again, but could not as long as the surety of Gwaeron and Véredhiel was yet unproven to his memory. The poison still marred his veins and flared darkly into flesh at these thoughts of doubt and feelings that left the warrior bereft. The doors opened at the end of the room and he turned painfully toward it, hopes crushed when a healer entered instead of his beloved. Orophin’s pulse thrummed hotly, creating spasms in his neck and tightening his jaw. “ _Where is she_?” The hoarse voice now held a frantic tone that betrayed his vulnerability.

The elf quickly came inside with his burden, a steaming kettle, and set a bowl of mixed herbs beside Orophin, pouring his water among the ingredients. “Who do you need, the Lady?” Calmly, the healer tried to help him and settle the upset patient who would have none of his coddling, gauchely shoving him away.

“ _Gwaeron_! _Gwaeron,_ Gwaeron…” The galadhrim panted her name, effectively taking in the fresh scent of healing vapors prepared to aid in expelling his toxins. Orophin constantly looked toward the door and desperately willed his huntress to come through the carved frame at every moment.

The elf at his side patiently took his limbs in careful hands and massaged feeling back into what muscles that were not so badly damaged, easing the intensity of his pains. “The lady ranger will come. She has been waiting for you.”

Orophin jerked as the poultice was removed from his shoulder wound and clean air touched infection, anger lending him energy enough to grip the edhel by his tunic. “ _Was she here_? Did any of it _happen_? _Where_ is Gwaeron!”

“I’m _here._ ” Each elf turned to the door where the woman stood and Orophin collapsed back with a cry of release, reaching out for her as she took his hand and drew near. “I’m here, Orophin. Calm, my love, it’s all right.” Gwaeron soothed him and pressed kisses to his face, drying the tears he had loosed in his suffering.

“I thought… Gwaeron, tell me it was real. Tell me you’ll marry me.” His free hand shook as he lifted it to touch her face, begging for assurance that she was swift to grant.

“ _All_ is real, the blood and the beauty of it. Véredhiel is your daughter, and I’ve promised to be your wife. I love you and that is real.” His beloved’s voice was soft and fervent against his skin, and her lips steadied him from his distress.

Orophin’s eyes shut in relief and with quivering effort he brought his free hand to touch her face. “ _Faril nin_ … I was burning because of your absence. I thought that you had been a dream in my fever and death, and I despaired.” The curls at her neck spilled over to brush his fingers as he spoke in raw whispers and he gathered them reverently in his hand, pressing the length of them to his cheek and curtaining the lovers from view.

“I did not mean to leave you in pain, forgive me. I am here, now, and will give you no cause to despair again.” Gwaeron kissed him again and stayed near until he had visibly calmed, allowing her to pull away a little and acknowledge the other elf who quietly brought in more supplies. “Thank you, for helping him.”

The healer nodded in response and brought the fresh poultice to give her. “Place this on the greatest wound, it will help continue to draw out the poison.” She heeded his instructions and watched him go before attending to her betrothed.

“Where is Véredhiel?” With voice nearly gone, Orophin asked after their daughter more with a touch of his hand than the words.

“I left to give her a bath and bring back some things to have while we were with you. On my way here I met lord Celeborn and his lady-wife, and they wished to take care of Véredhiel for the afternoon.” Gwaeron explained and fastened his bandages at the same time, her hands loving as they touched battle-scars and tender flesh.

“So that we might be together?” A faint smile pulled his mouth and his huntress grinned to see it.

“Yes.” She punctuated with a kiss. “You have a worthy Lord and Lady.”

Orophin laughed and then grunted with discomfort from the movement. “Worthy, indeed.” They sat sharing a smile in peace for a moment, their fingers laced and held in her lap. E’er long, however, a shadow passed over the warrior’s face and his tired eyes clouded. “Have you spoken at all with Rúmil? How does he do?”

“Only last night and long enough for him to tell me of your state. He was weary, but uninjured… Why do you ask in that way?”

Orophin hesitated and would not look at her, taking a breath and idling with their fingers. “He did not tell you of Haldir, or the others, then?”

“Orophin…” Gwaeron’s tone was wary, and she thought to dissuade him of recounting any of the battle for a while longer, but he would not have it and met her eye at last.

“They are gone.” His voice broke and his beloved closed her eyes, feeling them burn with tears. “My galadhrim and my brother are dead, gone to Mandos’ halls… and I watched them go.” Orophin felt his own eyes fill to the brim with grief and did not care that the evidence of it streamed down his temples. “Haldir was just out of reach, and I held him in my arms as his fëa left him. He gave us his blessing, and our last words together were not a quarrel, Valar be thanked. There were too many uruk-hai, my elves were lost in the onslaught of them.” Gwaeron pressed his hand and listened as he told what he was able of the wretched fighting at Helm’s Deep.

 

Orophin’s following month of recovery was made easier to bear with the support of his intended, who remained faithfully by him and sought to brighten his countenance however she could. The warden was happy with Gwaeron and when the beginning family could be together, his daughter and bride-to-be, but the lingering grief of battle would not remove itself so lightly. Gwaeron sought only once more to speak of Haldir and found it to be a matter of talk better had between warrior and kin.

A morning after her beloved’s dreams had been dark, Gwaeron asked the younger brother to come and sit with him, certain that Rúmil would at least have the empathy to speak equally with Orophin of their loss. With the lady ranger gone to visit Anauriel with the baby, Rúmil talked with his brother until midday about sorrow and guilt. The conversation continued to veer toward fault, and as it did so, Rúmil could do little more than watch as Orophin’s temper steeped in self-blame. “But Haldir knew the risk and price of battle, we _all_ did—“

“They should not have paid it.” Orophin’s voice was low, his words almost to himself, and he shook his head in frustration.

“Should _I_ have paid it, then?” The elf rose to match the frustration of his elder brother.

“ _No_. Valar, no, not you.”

Rúmil leaned toward Orophin and took his arm at the elbow, forcing him to meet his eye. “So you would have fallen for all our sakes, and at what cost? Your wife and daughter would have paid dearly, I tell you now.” Purposefully harsh in his reproof, Rúmil saw its effect when his brother’s eyes kindled, having aimed his arrow true.

Roughly, Orophin threw him off and growled in pain and affront. “Get away from me!” The warrior sat up on one arm and glared with clenched jaw as Rúmil obeyed and departed with a straight back and hard eye.

With the shutting of the door Orophin fell stiffly back on the bed and breathed heavily, tensing with withheld muscles and aggravated wounds. A heavy hand moved to hold the bandages at his left shoulder and pressed there mercilessly, fueling a shout of rage as it burned and stabbed him again. He lay with eyes closed a long time, trying with half a heart to calm down but instead merely stewing in his upheaval and sorrow. Rúmil’s words were true and part of Orophin wanted to accept that and let it rest, but the other part of him combated it righteously and accused the warden of every failing. Had he only been _faster, stronger,_ Haldir could have been saved.

When a feminine hand stroked through his hair he released some of his tension and sighed, knowing the touch of his intended. Her other hand took his away from his shoulder wound and the elf opened his eyes to see a concerned young woman. “You’re hot, do you want something to drink?” Gwaeron asked softly, but her words carried a discerning tone.

“No, I do not. Do you have Véredhiel with you?”

“She’s here, asleep. Anauriel and I were trying to get her to crawl all morning, and she gave it a good go, so she’s tired out.” Speaking of Véredhiel would have calmed her beloved in any other circumstance, but Gwaeron felt his disturbance and so did not expound or get excited on the subject. Orophin’s frown remained, and he did not turn to look at his daughter behind Gwaeron even when she gestured toward the child.

The battle-hardened hand that lay on her knee gripped and released her restlessly, though Orophin’s attention was drawn inward and he could not see how the tempest within him was not so easily hid. “Rúmil desires that I absolve myself of guilt for our losses in Rohan… but I cannot. A warden’s duty is to protect his captain—“

“And what of a _captain’s_ duty to protect his wardens, Orophin? Haldir fulfilled his to the end, as Eru willed it. I could have lost _you_ …” Suddenly she stood and moved away, trying to conceal how raw her emotions still remained after the fact. “I saw you die a hundred times in my thoughts. Cut down by a uruk, dragged into the mire with blood weighing upon you… With my name on your lips, you collapsed in defeat and let them kill you.” With a voice broken through tears, Gwaeron spoke of her visions and the terrors her nights had been filled with. After a moment the ranger heard him slowly rise from the bed and come close behind her. “Orophin, you do not know how I prayed for you to realize the value of your life. How valuable it is to _me_ , if it is not to you.”

His hand covered her shoulder and neck warmly; turning her round so she could lean into his embrace and her arms found what was coming to be their natural place around his torso. The anger in him now redirected so that he felt a cur for upsetting his beloved. “ _Gwaeron._ “ Orophin stroked the curls that were let down to please him and held her tenderly against him, murmuring his apology. “Forgive me, faril nin, I did not know…”

“I did not tell you. I did not want to remember those dreams, not when I feared for so long that they would come to pass exactly so.” She took a deep breath at last and settled against him. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had to be alone again, if Véredhiel would never have known a father.” Orophin’s face burned to think of all that could have been lost, and all that was. His betrothed could sense him digesting her words, her feelings, and with a brush of lips to his jaw Gwaeron pulled away to look in his eyes. “The fault does not lie with you, but with the evil of this war, with the dark lord. Do not hold on to your guilt, meleth nin.” Her voice was soft though her words held power, and at her utterance Gwaeron saw understanding fall into place in his mind. Instead of distress and grief, his eyes now held peace.

Slowly Orophin gave a careful smile, looking upon her with an admiration no creature could earn from him but this woman. “ _Meleth nin_ …” He repeated her endearment in a daze, overwhelmed to hear her declare him her love at last. With his eyes glancing to her lips, Orophin lowered gradually until she reached her lips to brush with his, rejuvenating him in its affection.

“Yes, I love you. There’s nothing now that can keep me from loving you.”

Large hands came up to hold her lovely face, and Orophin smirked at this treasure that would belong to him. “Nor that can keep me.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Title:** Faril Nin [My Huntress]

 **Author:** Codi Lyn { iluvobiwan91

 **Genre:** Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** PG-13 – R (for descriptive battle scene/wounds)

 **Pairing:** Orophin/OFC [Gwaeron]

 **Timeline:** Begins before the Fellowship enters Lorien in Third Age 3018… concludes during Fourth Age 250

 **Chapter:** 10/13

**Chapter Summary:** _“I will allow no man to dishonor you, my beautiful huntress, not even me. I would have the integrity of my princess intact.” Orophin looked upon her with eyes that saw her dressed in royal raiment in Gondor, and he found her perfectly suited to either the throne of her ancestors or the trees and garb of the Northern rangers._

**Author’s Note:** Follows movie-verse, but I make a few references to things that happened in the books. J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson have rights to the important stuff, this story is written purely for pleasure.

  

A routine of health was soon established now that the Lady had granted Orophin leave from his sickbed. The freedom allowed Gwaeron to take him away from that lonesome room every morning to take long walks with her through the city, regaining his strength a little at a time. Each day they went further, finding more isolated lanes when they did not have Véredhiel in arms so that they might find each other’s arms more privately. The lady ranger held no lack of incentives for his recovery when every moment he longed to touch her and she often encouraged the play of his pursuit when they moved through the younger trees that encircled Caras Galadhon.

More than once, she had been fooled into his pretense of exhaustion and captured into her beloved’s arms when she drew near. Orophin used this act with pleasure, for his lover dealt him little real punishment after her capture. “I must be careful or you shall doubt me at every turn.” Chuckling between kissing her ear and her neck, Orophin held the woman between a cluster of aspens and his body.

“In little things, I already do!” She hit him lightly at his uninjured side. “You ask me for tea only to watch me make it and hold my hands around your cup as you drink, we go to watch the sunset and yet your eyes are closed to kiss me until nightfall—“

“Do you have any objection, faril nin?” There was a rasp in his voice that she felt through his breath on her neck. His lips lingered in one more kiss there before pulling away to study her face.

Gwaeron’s eyes were half-closed in tender delight as she smirked at him. “No, I do not… But my brother might.”

He laughed with a nod, admitting she was right as he glanced a their feet. “I’ve actually wanted to talk with you along that vein, and I’ve delayed it.” Her head tilted curiously, a little more sober at his words. Orophin’s hand reached up to finger her long curls, thinking how he should proceed. “You know a little about elven customs of marriage, but mostly I imagine you’ve been told only about the ceremony and feasting.” At her nod, he proceeded. “Traditionally, the bond is consummated between the couple _first_ … and then the ceremonial words are spoken before the people and the celebration lasts for a week or so.”

Gwaeron believed she had known this, but now it seemed to really apply and resonate, and it sent nerves to tangle within her in mixed delight and anxiety. It was right in the eyes of her elven family to commit themselves this way… but that was not the way of men, and without her brother even to be present for the bonding ceremony?

Orophin saw how the information absorbed into reality for her and he touched her arm reassuringly. “Rúmil has offered for me to return and stay with him in the talan beside yours— _ours_. But I wanted to tell you that I refused.” Her gaze returned to his, waiting for his reasoning. “I want to honor you by your people and family, Gwaeron. And for myself, it means to sleep in another part of our city until the day you become my wife in the presence of your family. The marriage customs of men are not so different from our own, it is only the timing.”

Smiling, Gwaeron knew exactly what he meant. These intimacies of courtship and engagement would go no further than what honor would keep her a maiden and their love pure. Not only this, but in the presence of her family—Orophin knew, as she did, that Aragorn’s path was as yet unknown in this war, whether he would return to her and be the ranger, fall in defending Middle Earth from the Dark One’s armies, or remain in Gondor to take his crown. Gwaeron’s family included the house of Elrond, as well as her heritage from Elendil, and Orophin would share their ceremony with those of Imladris who loved her, if war claimed her brother. “You are good to me, my beloved warden.” Her eyes had turned glassy.

“I will allow no man to dishonor you, my beautiful huntress, not even me. I would have the integrity of my princess intact.” Orophin looked upon her with eyes that saw her dressed in royal raiment in Gondor, and he found her perfectly suited to either the throne of her ancestors or the trees and garb of the Northern rangers.

 

Gwaeron counted now that seven weeks had passed since Orophin’s return from Helm’s Deep, marking each day by the progress of his physical and emotional healing. She returned home—as she thought of Orophin’s talan now—with a drowsing baby girl in her arms. They had all become too tired to stay in her beloved’s cramped room to stay, and the woman’s kiss had awoken Orophin just enough to bid her good night.

With familiar routine, she put the little one to bed with blankets all around and went to take her bath, looking forward to joining her daughter in rest. Gwaeron was combing through her wet curls when she felt, rather than heard, a presence at the entrance to her flet. Presently, there was a gentle knock. “I’m coming…” The woman called softly and made her way past the baby and to the door.

The knowing smile of the Lady of the Wood greeted her. “Good evening, Gwaeron. Am I disturbing you?” The high elf queen inquired politely, seeing her damp curls collected to one shoulder.

“No, of course not. Véredhiel is just sleeping… please, come in.” Gesturing inside, both women sat quietly at the small dining table.

“I have come to share news and make you an offer.” Galadriel was serene and happy to see this young mortal so content, waiting patiently for what she now began to tell her. “The One ring of power has at last been destroyed.” Gwaeron’s face went slack in shock, yet her Lady continued. “The young halfling you met, Frodo Baggins, has accomplished this with Samwise Gamgee at his side.”

Gwaeron had moved to the edge of her seat now and asked so many questions with bright eyes, but only voiced one. “What of the others? My brother…”

“Your brother is well, along with the others who now rest in Minas Tirith. I’m afraid only the Steward’s son, Boromir, was killed on this quest of the Fellowship. His death came while protecting the other two hobbits, Meriadoc and Peregrin, in Amon Hen.”

Her face fell sorrowful as she remembered the man from their brief stay in Lorien. Amon Hen… not even a great distance beyond the Golden Wood when he was killed. Gwaeron remembered his last looks had been dark, and she prayed he had redeemed what honor he seemed to have lost.

Galadriel had not come to bring ill tidings, however, and now she brought the maiden’s attention to more encouraging truths. “Your brother has been working hard with his people to rebuild the lives and brilliance of his White City. He strives to make it shine as bright from within as any of its long line of kings had sought to do.”

The ranger’s green eyes shot up at the implication of her words. “His people, _his_ city? Has he…” Galadriel’s smile and sparkling gaze were enough to assure her. Trembling hands rose to hold her mouth as a joyous sob rang out, tears that shone on her Dúnedan features only reflected the happiness of relief. At last, he had chosen to take his inheritance, to be the heir to the throne of Gondor as she had long prayed he would.

A tender hand lay upon her arm and she met the well-pleased eyes of Galadriel. “There is more, child, can you stand it?” Amusement was clear in her tone. “My granddaughter will soon be on her way from Imladris to meet him, no doubt ending their troth in marriage. My lord husband and I will not be traveling to the White City, but we shall send a party to represent Lorien and attend both the coronation, and the union of the King and our Evenstar.” She gave the young woman a sly glance, a smile in her voice. “It would seem you now have strong ties to both this realm and Elessar’s, which makes you the obvious choice to accompany our Marchwarden on his journey there.”

Green eyes swam in tears of utter happiness so that Gwaeron’s sight was blurred to match the trembling in her limbs. She laughed brokenly in excitement, hardly able to accept so much wonderful news without being overwhelmed. How long had they struggled? Not just her family, not just her _race_! But all Men, Elves, Dwarves, and creatures of Middle Earth… against the Ring that gave the Shadow its powerful evil. Ages beyond her lifetime, and now they could finally heal without fear and urgency.

Specific thoughts of Aragorn becoming one with his beloved at last came to fill her with warmth. Her Estel would accept reign of Gondor and have his worthy Queen at his side. What joy and love shall fill their kingdom with peace! “Thank you, my Lady. Surely you can see the depth of my gratitude, I cannot express it.”

Gwaeron found herself laughing in pure elation, and soon the White Lady affectionately joined her, taking hold of her hands. “ _It is good to see you smile once more, child.”_

The Lady of the Wood talked some with her about a few details, when they should depart, and how long the journey may take, before she left the ranger to find her rest. Gwaeron finished readying in a daze and soon found herself nestled in beside her daughter, watching her so peaceful and precious in a baby’s slumber. Soon the same manner of peace came to her as well.

 

Orophin could not find such rest; though his heart was full with peace and joy at the news his lord Celeborn had brought him this night. His thoughts raced still with visions of each battle his Lord had discussed with him, the numbers, the waves, and the losses that finally triumphed with the source of evil eradicated.

This knowledge of the war’s ending and Aragorn’s acceptance of the throne threw Orophin’s plans into action swiftly. The elf grinned, standing in thought where his Lord had left him beside the outer railing. He would marry the sister to the King of Gondor. He needed to see his bride. No more than a few hours had passed since their last kiss, yet so much had been revealed to change everything. Celeborn had told him that his Lady Wife had gone to Gwaeron, and so by now she must know the outcome of things as he did.

The warden turned to look through the open door of his chamber and signaled to his companion, Tar, who had waited patiently half-sleeping on the end of the bed. “Come, lad.” The hound trotted up to him and was rewarded with affection as his master slowly descended the stairs. “Let’s go see your mistress.” Reaching the ground from his residence higher in the healing ward always proved the larger challenge, and Orophin took a moment to check his bandages afterward, as Gwaeron would consistently do. The woods were quiet as made his familiar way to her, only Tar’s happy panting breaking the silence.

Only a little favoring to his right leg remained visibly to slow him, a constant reminder of the deep wounds he had sustained at the thigh and hip. Idleness grated on him, and the only thing—aside from Gwaeron’s determination— to keep him from risking further injury was the desire to resume his galadhrim training in full. Having brought his muscles to their pique with hard training and sparring sessions long before the battle, his body was now eager to move and return to activity. Perhaps the long travel would placate him for a while, stretch his legs at the least.

He looked forward to the journey to be shared with his beloved and their daughter. Thinking of his own frustrations in idleness reminded him of the baby and what struggles the trip might give her. Long rides and unable to lie on her belly or back and play as she had grown used to doing every day in his room. A smile could not keep from playing on his mouth just to think of her, though. His own childhood was filled with the same restless energy to move or play with his eldest brother, and then later Rúmil. “Véredhiel would do well with a brother or sister, herself.” Orophin murmured to himself, and the idea brought a full grin to brighten his countenance.

Steadily he climbed the stairs and reached the door to his talan, hearing the quiet noises of his two beloved women once he had calmed his own breathing. The elf’s uneven stride was careful to step lightly into the open bedroom, but rooted him to the spot when he glimpsed the sweetness of his bride and their little one tucked within her grasp. The fullness of his circumstances nearly overcame him then and tears burned behind eyes transfixed upon his beloved. A daughter, a woman who would soon become his wife, the thoughts and reality of raising a family in a world no longer threatened by darkness. Praise of the Valar painted his lips.

As he stood near, Gwaeron’s dark lashes began to flutter and eyes from a southern sea came to focus on him. She studied him with a knowing, peaceful smile for a few moments and admired the man who returned her love. His hair fell long and straight over strong shoulders, leaving only the two braids she had plaited above his ears to withhold it. Orophin seemed made of mountains and moonlight from where she beheld him, strength and the tender renewal of night’s growth breathed in his movements. She would bind to this elf.

“Go back to sleep, faril nin. I did not mean to stir you.” A calm, deep voice greeted her, yet she continued to watch him silently a minute more.

“You have heard, as I have, everything that’s happened?” Quietly, she spoke over the baby’s resting head. Orophin merely nodded, still adoring her with his gaze. Gwaeron turned her attention to Véredhiel, the sweet baby who had grown even since finding her at the edge of Mirkwood, and who had certainly established a place in their lives forever. _Forever._ The sting of tears pricked the maiden’s eyes as thoughts washed over her mind to console her. Gwaeron could not live forever, would not be there at the end of all things to hold her husband… but Véredhiel would, perhaps even other children if the Valar so chose. Orophin would not be alone in his life, no matter how short hers might come to be. Relief and comfort were infused in these thoughts.

Everything was right as it should be, and Gwaeron now felt the desire to complete it, and begin her life, while long compared with her kin, which would be a short, lovely while with her beloved. Her eyes shone now as they met Orophin’s, her voice so soft and filled with love that it was not quite steady. “When shall we be married, Orophin?” The woman felt as though dawn had come with the response of his smile.

Coming to sit at the head of her cot, he looked down upon the two of them curled in the middle, letting one hand encircle the crest of tiny curls on his daughter’s head, while the other wove into the thicker beauty of his huntress. “I had thought to ask the High King of Arnor for your hand. It is not fitting that the Princess Gwaeron should be hidden away from her people…” Her free hand came up to stroke his wrist and arm that touched her, admiration and gratitude in her expression. “Although, I’m fear I must steal her away back to my Wood, at some point.” The elf teased his lover in a whisper and leaned down to lay tender kisses at her neck. Holding his head close above her own, Gwaeron closed her eyes at the feel of his silken hair touching her brow and melted when loving lips met tenderly with hers.

Orophin pulled away only to see the beautiful flush he had put on her cheeks, the blissfully closed eyes and relaxed smile that would evermore receive his kiss. A deep sigh settled in his chest and filled him with pride that this creature, so strong and loving, would belong to him. “Perhaps I should not tell this to you, my Gwaeron, before we are joined, but I have lately been thinking of the children we might be blessed with in the future.”

Her eyes opened with sudden attention up to see him and another shade darkened her blush. “How many children have you imagined to bless me with?” The mixture of modesty and coy play in her tone sparked a grin upon his face.

“There is no number, yet, which I’ve fixed upon. Only the vision of my beloved wife filled with child as I hold her. You are a beautiful mother, faril nin. Already, I love you for it.”

“And you, a perfect father, my mountain. Already I see the pains you will take with your first daughter as she grows. A man does not understand what strong love he can have for any woman but his own until his wife brings him a daughter. I have seen it many times among men, and I know it will be so as Véredhiel comes of age.”

The wisdom with which she spoke made his heart warm to know her experience. Among Men his beloved was no youth, and many lessons had she learned first hand through her travels and relationships. In regards to family, he would lean much upon her. “I shall try not to disappoint, in this matter.” Laughing softly, laid another kiss on her mouth and they spoke of little, endearing things until the motion of his fingers through her hair lulled the woman back to sleep. Orophin looked forward to the day he never had to leave her repose again.


End file.
